Caym
by FallingMirrors
Summary: [And then it spoke in a voice made of false softness and poisonous honey, the arsenic in the sweet French pastry. "What a lovely child you are."] Eight year old Ciel Phantomhive makes the acquaintance of a monster near the forest behind his home, however, he has no grasp of how entirely such a 'friendship' will destroy him. AU, later S/C, warning for gore and disturbing imagery.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **I'm back with something a little different. It's quite interesting to look over my writing and see how it's progressively gotten darker over the years, actually. But here we are. Although I've written fluff in the past, I've always liked the idea of portraying Sebastian as a hungry demon as that is essentially what he is. So this is a bit of an experiment, if you will, and I'll see how far I go with it. Hopefully it should be interesting. Essentially an AU, in which (if things go to plan) we should see Ciel age over time and witness how the dynamic between master and servant changes. I was considering starting with Ciel even younger, but then realised that if I did that, there would be a lot of dialogue taken out that's included in this chapter.

I believe that Ciel's character in both the anime and manga results heavily from the tragedy he was forced to suffer, so here I've tried to experiment a little by mixing the innocence we see of him in flashbacks with a little sharpness, which in my mind is a natural trait. So that's that explained and, on with the show I suppose. If I write any more, I suspect that subsequent chapters will be longer.

**Warnings: **Reference to demons and a short bible excerpt at the end, and gore at the end as well. And this is only the beginning, I'm afraid. I expect things will get more disturbing later on. You should also be aware that there will be frequent moments of Sebastian/Ciel in later chapters.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Kuroshitsuji in any way.

_Caym _

_[alt. title: The Boy's Crow]_

Little hands clutched at the dewy grass by the boy's side in delight, clumsy fingers running over each blade as though exploring, as though hoping desperately for some enthralling difference. Large, azure flickered over all that the garden had to offer, glancing off the trickling water in the fountain and the gently swaying trees, watching as the golden sunlight filtered through the crisp leaves of the morning. All too quickly, a violent cough wracked the boy's small frame and he sat up straight, back arched forwards a little in an attempt to clear his lungs. The pretty eyes squeezed shut and the starfish hands clenched into fists around the grass in discomfort. However, this soon trickled away and, with childish simplicity, the boy went back to studying his surroundings.

Ciel Phantomhive liked being outside. His favourite time of day was the morning, just after breakfast, when his smile could convince the servants to turn a blind eye to their little lord slipping out through the back door to enjoy the sunshine and the light breeze. More often than not, his parents would scold him gently for this, telling him that he was still too ill to be venturing outside, particularly when the wind would pick up a little. And, being the child that he was, Ciel was less than stealthy when it came to these operations and the grass and mud stains smeared on his milky shins and on the bottom of his trousers and the pointy, little elbows of his smooth white shirt would give him away. Even so, his mother was quick to forgive and thus the little boy's simple pleasure would be allowed almost daily without punishment.

Today was no exception. When one wandered across a small bridge at the far end of the garden - as Ciel had chosen to do today, not for the first time - they would be treated to the view of the edge of the forest that surrounded the Phantomhive manor. At this border was where Ciel had parked himself for the morning, in the murky, greyish shade that those few trees at the edge of the forest had to offer.

It was funny, Ciel thought, how different it was here in comparison to the family's main garden, where the sun fell unabashedly. Here, he could see the gentle shadows of the forest, a small amount of morning mist winding its way like a pit of snakes around the bases of the tree trunks. The garden and the forest were in such close proximity, yet there was such a stark difference between them. Ciel supposed that most boys his age (that grand age of eight, the importance of age ten looming impressively over him in the not-so-distant future) would be a little frightened of the forest. But not him. The forest had a certain solitude to it, a certain quiet that could not be found within the impressive garden. Here there were no windows. Here, no-one could bother him as he was left to his thoughts.

At least, that was how things had begun.

Never before had Ciel Phantomhive heard a twig snap under another being's weight in that great, desolate forest. Never before had the boy even considered that he was not the only one enjoying the solitude of the woods. At the crack somewhere to his right, Ciel's head jerked up from where he had previously been watching his own hands make their imprint in the grass. His body thrummed, every sense on the alert. Several more rustlings and snaps followed and the boy's head turned, expecting (or perhaps hoping) to see an animal beside him, a stray cat perhaps or even a bird that had become oblivious to his still form. What he had not expected to see was the pair of glowing, deep red eyes peering out at him from the gloom.

The eyes regarded him evenly and from what he could see, the pupils were slitted like those of a cat. The eyes blinked vertically in the same manner as a bird and Ciel felt his breath hitch in his throat in panic. Judging by the height the eyes were at, the creature was tall - he had never seen an animal or bird that large before, and certainly not with those eyes. Too timid to call out, yet too startled to run, it was all Ciel could do to simply sit and stare back at the eyes that watched him.

The creature, whatever it was, took a step towards him and a human figure seemed to detach itself from surrounding shadows, at least... somewhat human. There were the extended limbs - two arms, two legs - the torso and the head. Yet something was simply _off. _The surrounding area was quiet; not a bird nor mouse nor squirrel in sight and, for some reason, Ciel very much doubted that there were even any insects in the near vicinity. More twigs snapped and leaves rustled as the thing approached and the boy felt his body grow instantly cold, as though he were sitting in the garden in mid November rather than the early summer months. The creature drew nearer and it appeared to be... _smoking, _somewhat, the thin, wispy tendrils rising from its shoulders and coat, hovering around its wrists. As Ciel's eyes fell lower, he saw that its fingers elongated into talon-like claws rather than human hands and a thrill ran through him at the thought of the damage those claws could do. His mind screamed at him to run, and yet his body was frozen in place. The feet were clad in spiked boots, the heels of which looked more like weapons than any imaginable fashion statement. But it was when he gazed at the creature's face that Ciel's heart truly raced. It was human, and yet it was further from human than anything the boy had ever witnessed before. The skin was pale and without flaw, the features sharp and handsome, eyebrows dark and straight and the visage itself framed by feathery, soft black hair. However, upon closer inspection it was not only hair which framed the face, but what appeared to be decay upon the temples, hovering around the hairline and descending down the neck, though this was soon covered by a mockingly priest-like collar. The thing's lips parted and two small, fang-like teeth made themselves apparent, barely touching the lower lip as it smirked. And then it spoke in a voice made of false softness and poisonous honey, the arsenic in the sweet French pastry.

"What a lovely child you are."

For a moment, Ciel could only sit and stare at the thing before him, suddenly terribly aware of the rise and fall of his breastbone and how the creature eyed in almost hungrily. But steadily, the initial fear was being replaced by skepticism.

"Who are you?" he demanded, pushing the thin, reedy voice out through his lips. He knew that his voice was terribly feeble and, not for the first time, he envied his father, the man with the smooth, calm, yet imposing voice that Ciel felt he would never master. He knew that the question he perhaps should have asked was '_what are you?' _ but he was a Phantomhive and had been raised on manners and decorum. He attempted to regain control of himself, little shoulders straight and chin pointed upwards with pride, yet he knew he still trembled.

The thing halted for a moment, seemingly surprised at the boy's little display of dignity, but then the crescent moon smirk returned to its face. "I am whatever you want me to be."

Ciel was confused by this, but continued nonetheless. "Don't you have a name?"

"I do, but I fear it would be much too difficult for you to pronounce."

Affronted, Ciel was quick to bite back, "I'm eight-"

"Eight years old, yes, I know," the creature interrupted him smoothly, "And what a grand age it is as well," he continued in a low hum, as a means of placating the offended boy and quickly cutting off the stuttered _'how did you-?'_ "What I meant was that, I do not believe a human such as yourself would have the ability to say my name, do you see?"

"In that case," the boy began, his frame settling noticeably, as this thing had not yet tried to harm him as he had previously expected it would. Slender fingers knotted back into the grass by his sides and he stared down at this, as though finding it far more interesting than the creature before him. "In that case, I suppose that you would not be able to pronounce my name either, seeing as it's a human name." Large blue eyes peered back up at the creature, slightly narrowed in suspicion to find that the burning red eyes had seemingly not detached themselves from him.

"Ciel Phantomhive," the thing responded, its quasi-grin widening slightly as the mouth curved upwards at the corners.

Ciel knew that he should probably question how the creature knew so much about him, however, he could not will himself to discover what the answer was. Instead, he stood, drawing himself up to his full, if less-than-impressive, height staring at the thing before him evenly, even though the small hands which were clenched into fists trembled at his sides. "Well that's hardly fair," he stated. "You know my name, but I don't know what to call you."

"I have no given name to your kind," the thing countered, "Perhaps you should choose one for me."

"That wouldn't make any sense. You only choose names for things that you own. I don't own you," Ciel sighed. Surely this was common knowledge.

"You could own me, if you so desired," the thing said lowly, softly. "Surely you would like a friend. It is unnatural for little boys to be locked away from others."

_And even more unnatural for little boys to converse with things that aren't human _Ciel's mind argued back, though he did not comment, instead simply regarding the creature with shrewd eyes and sitting back down with a childish, overly-practiced grace, as though encouraging it to continue with this new thread of conversation.

"It must be dreadfully lonely," the creature continued, coming forward and crouching before the boy, filling him with the innate urge to scurry backwards and away, yet he stayed put. One obsidian talon came forward and when Ciel looked closer, he could see somewhat of a gradient between the snowy white skin of the finger and the pitch black of the nail, as though there was no border or cuticle of any kind. The tip of the talon traced idle patterns on the boy's ruddy, bared knee, held at a crook so that the available sun picked out the little indentations made by the matted carpet of grass beneath him, forming a lattice down the side of one milky leg.

"Sometimes I go out with my parents. And I have servants," the boy protested, but he was quickly cut off, the red eyes flickering from the presented knee back up to the boy's face and the lips curving once again.

"Obligated to keep you company," the thing stated firmly.

"And my family."

"The same."

That silenced him swiftly. Family were supposed to love each other. Lizzie loved him, his parents loved him. Unless, of course, that was simply due to the fact that they were family, due to some natural instinct, or some unspoken social rule...

"All that is required of you is a little deal," the thing pressed onwards gently.

"Who says I want friendship anyway?" the boy retorted.

"Then the bond needn't be one of companionship. Power, perhaps? Wouldn't you like that? To be big and strong like your father?" The creature pressed, talons still doing their light dance over Ciel's knee bone and the boy's eyes widened just slightly in interest.

"You can give me power?"

"Of course. I can make you a great man, ever the faithful dog by your side."

"Hm. Dog. Perhaps that should be your name. No, better - if you were to be mine I should call you Sebastian," the boy mused, his own lips twisting just a little now. "But anyway, what's the price? You said that I would have to make a deal. What do you want?"

A muted laugh emerged from deep within the creature's throat and for the first time, the eyes glanced downwards and another set of eyelids were visible, these ones fringed with thick, black lashes as opposed to the odd, vertical ones that boy had spied earlier. It glanced upwards again and that talon lifted from the boy's knee, instead coming up to trace down the curve of the plump cheek instead, from just below the large, cerulean eye to the jawbone. "That isn't something for you to be concerned about now. Your payment will not be due for a long time yet. I assure you, it is no hefty price. Now, do you accept? My power and my companionship?"

Ciel Phantomhive threw one backwards look towards his house, his home, his source of security. Every warning fed to him rushed back into his mind in fragmented sentences and morals _don't-talk-to-strangers-don't-go-into-the-forest _and rapidly slipped through his grasp like droplets of water.

"Yes, I accept."

"Excellent," the creature purred, "Now hold still - this will hurt."

Ciel had no time to question what the thing meant, before one long claw was plunged directly into his right eye.

It was agony, pain beyond any of that which the boy had ever known before and, to his utter horror, he realised he could _hear _it, could hear the talon being plunged into the socket, could hear the pop of the vitreous humour and the scratching of the claw at the optical nerve, as the thing seemed determined to not only blind him, but reduce his eye to nothing more than useless, blended matter. He was too shocked to scream, too repulsed to pull away. His only reaction was a sudden awareness of the bile crawling up his throat and at last, it seemed that his limbs were animated as he reached up helplessly to clutch at the thing's arm. A gurgle of distress forced its way up his throat and finally the claw withdrew. Automatically, Ciel's hand shot up to clamp over the weeping socket and he was barely aware of the blood stained hand coursing through the soft down of his hair, the monster's voice speaking lowly. "Yes, a lovely child indeed."

:: ::

_1 Peter 5:8 _

"_Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour." _

:: ::

**Context Note: **As you can see from the title, I've made references to the demon Caym (or Caim), the President of Hell, who in many texts presents himself as a black bird, or a well-dressed man with the head and wings of a crow, hence why I made the connection to Sebastian. Furthermore, he is a good disputer and gives true answers regarding things to come. In pre-Christian Celtic cultures, he was seen as a spirit of protection, or a defender. I have no idea if the character of Sebastian was in any way based on this demon, that's just my interpretation. There are a few similarities which I found interesting, so after a little research I decided to use the parallels I found.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Hello again and welcome to the second chapter. First of all, I'd like to thank you all for your favourites, follows, and reviews in particular. It's always lovely to see feedback from those of you who are reading and enjoying this fanfiction. A recurring theme I saw throughout reviews seemed to be in relation to my portrayal of Sebastian and I'm very glad that you all seem to like it. I also wanted to apologise for a couple of typos I missed. I always proofread my work, but a few just seem to slip through every time. I should also warn you that updates will probably get slower than this one has been. But we'll see how I keep up. Also, pretty much the whole time I was writing this I listened to In the Cold Light of Morning by Placebo because the mood of it just really seemed to fit this chapter, so you should all give it a go. Another thing I wanted to mention is that I was reading over some of the chapters of the manga and I saw Ciel refer to Tanaka as "grandpa." I assumed it was a childhood term of endearment so I carried it on here. I think that was about it. I hope you enjoy this installment of Caym.

**Warnings:** None really for this chapter. A little bit of disturbing imagery pertaining to death and rotting.

_Caym_

Ciel Phantomhive was drowsy when he awoke. He felt a deep, nasty throbbing in his right eye and his left opened just a crack, enough to allow a stream of light to seep harshly through and he let it slide quickly closed again. He simply lay for a moment, simply existed and respired and then he began to think, to remember. He remembered the thing at the edge of the forest and the morning sunlight and the fog that surrounded the trees. Red eyes, talons, smooth voice and the claw that had been plunged into his eye. It was all so strange, so detached to him now, but his eye, _his eye. _

The slightly clouded left eye cracked painfully open once again and he could see fogged images surrounding him - the edge of his wardrobe, the pillars of his bed, and the dusty light which bled in through the gossamer drapes drifting lazily in the morning breeze which entered through the window, left open just a little. He heard the door - which he knew was somewhere at the right of his room - open and steady footsteps. And then a hitched breath, the footsteps now withdrawing quickly. _Who's there? I want mother... father. Mummy, I want my mummy. _

He was growing increasingly frustrated and the eye which was just beginning to clear, allowing the images of his surroundings to sharpen, clouded again in fear and pain and desperation as his memories flooded back to him in a horrifying torrent. Little hands clutched the bedsheets by his sides in the same way they had clutched the grass on that morning, however long ago that was now.

In a few mere moments (moments that felt like years) the door opened again and a soft voice breathed out a "_Ciel,_" and he could not tell whether it was relieved or concerned. His left eye opened once more, just as he was engulfed by his mother's arms, the warmth and the flowery perfume all too familiar to him, the long, flaxen hair brushing his cheeks and tickling his nose as he was hoisted up slightly so that his face was held flush to the crook of his mother's neck. "Oh, Ciel. Mother's here, mother's here." And that was all it took for the dam to break in a long, shuddering breath and he was sobbing freely against the shoulder of his mother's pretty dress. She held him tightly, allowed him to stain the slippery silk of her dress as is a mother's duty, before pulling him back a little to cup his chin and observe his face and something in her carefully constructed calmness seemed to crumple as she looked at him. "What happened to you, Ciel? What happened?" she questioned and the distress in her tone made him worry. He could not tell her the truth, of course. Whatever had happened, adults did not want a monster to blame. Monsters hid under the beds and in the minds of children, but they certainly did not cause any physical harm.

A hand appeared in his line of vision, garnered in opulent rings, and Ciel allowed his gaze to travel upwards, to regard the owner of the hand and there stood his father, tall, stable as always. But his cool mask shattered as soon as Ciel saw the tiny furrow between the man's eyebrows. "Let Anne look at him." His mother reluctantly turned back to him, gave him a watery smile, and released him gently, stepping back with her husband as his auntie came forward.

But this was not auntie Anne. This was Dr Durless with a thick, leather-bound case in her hand that she rested beside his bed with a heavy thud as she leaned over him to inspect his right eye. He stared steadily back at her, watching the concentration and the heartbreak on her face emptily. Finally she withdrew a little with a small caress to his rounded cheek. "He's healing fine," she announced, and Ciel was a little unsure as to whom she currently spoke to. "There should be minimal scar tissue surrounding the eye, but-" and she looked away from him, back to his parents, to his mother who stood tensely, clutching his father's arm. And Ciel watched as she shook her head and his mother's shoulders slumped, her frame weakening as his father placed a consoling hand on her back.

Of course, Ciel already knew the cause of her upset. He had known from the second he had opened his eyes. His right eye had been blinded - permanently, by the looks of things. And he knew the reason why as well.

Finally, his father broke the silence of the room. "How did this happen, son?"

Ciel had already made up his mind. He knew if he told the true tale, his parents would be even more concerned. They would thing him crazy, batty, mad as a March Hare. "I don't know," he lied quickly, "I don't know what happened. I was sitting in the garden and then I woke up here."

The three adults in the room exchanged sombre looks, but finally his father nodded his head and Ciel knew that the lie had been a success.

:: ::

The day rolled by rather slowly. Auntie Anne had prescribed bed rest, and so Ciel had been forced to endure "bed rest" and spent his time flicking idly through the pages of his books, slipping in and out of a light slumber, being brought his meals by the servants and forcing Mr Tanaka to stay and chat a while and tell him stories of when-he-was-young. And his father had visited him and chided him with amusement that Mr Tanaka was a busy man with many duties to attend to and that Ciel mustn't distract him so. Even Sebastian had, as a rare treat, been allowed a brief visit and at first Ciel wasn't sure how to feel about that, this animal that had inspired the name of the monster, but that worry had disintegrated as soon as the dog bounded up, clumsy, over-excitable front paws on the side of the bed and tongue lolling from his mouth, his head cocked to the left, and Ciel had run a careless hand over his muzzle, giggling in childish delight.

For extended periods of time, he was left without company and at those times, he would slip fleetingly out of his bed, crawling underneath it on elbows and knees to continue strategically assembling the twin armies of toy soldiers he had established there as though they were about to do battle. As the day ticked onwards, he began to play idly, engaging the soldiers in war against each other, sprawled on his stomach, chin resting in one hand with his legs kicking out behind him.

At one point when he scurried out from under his covers, it was not to play nor to fetch a different book, but to approach the mirror at the far side of the room and stare forlornly at the bandage which was now wrapped around his head, covering the scene of the crime committed against him. A little red fluid was already seeping through the crisp white of the bandage and Ciel expected that auntie Anne would soon return to change it. Small fingers flitted around the small stain, but the stinging that this caused to the wound had him quickly pulling his hand away again. He supposed that he no longer had a right eye at all. How strange that would be, the gaping hole where the eye should be. He wondered if it would look ugly. Perhaps if he was ugly, he would not be able to run the company when he grew up. Business partners do not want to trade with the ugly, after all, he reasoned.

He glanced towards the window, drawing steadily closer to it and staring out over the garden. His line of vision did not extend far enough to see the border between the garden and the forest, but he could see the bridge he had crossed to get there and the tips of the trees creeping up over the mounds of the land. The sight of those trees filled him with an inexplicable dread and he stepped back again, his gaze lingering for just a moment before he hurried back to bed, drawing the covers up over his head as if that would protect him. He knew that he would see the monster again somehow. He had made a deal with it, after all. He didn't know when, or where, or how, but he knew that again he would be subjected to the red eyes and the hints of decay on the flesh and the jet black hair and that treacherous voice.

:: ::

Swiftly, the day blended steadily into the late evening and Tanaka was sent to prepare him for bed. The boy sat obediently, legs hanging over the edge of the bed and swinging very gently, as the buttons of his nightshirt were fastened for him.

"Grandpa..."

Tanaka looked up at the boy's soft request for attention and Ciel merely watched him for a moment, taking note of the open warmness in his gaze and deciding to continue the conversation. "Nothing can get me here, right?"

The old man's brow furrowed for a moment in confusion before he spoke. "Of course not. You are safe. The servants will always dutifully protect the Phantomhive family."

"Even from monsters?" Ciel blurted out, immediately regretting doing so once he saw the small smile on the butler's face.

"Now, young master. I had thought that you were far too sensible to be scared of silly things like monsters. There are no monsters. They don't exist."

"But..." his heart clenched uncomfortably. "But even if there were I would still be safe, right?"

"Of course. Is there something you would like to tell me, young master?" Tanaka pressed gently, raising a brow. The boy simply shook his head. "Very well. Come now, it's past your bed time." The butler's papery hand pulled back the bed sheets, allowing the small boy to slip underneath, the thick quilt pulled up snugly to his elfish chin. "Goodnight, young master."

"Goodnight, Grandpa."

The door shut with a click and immediately Ciel found himself staring wide-eyed into the darkness, an icy fear winding around his feeble lungs. He jolted as he heard a tapping at the window, body freezing in fear and he was suddenly, hollowly aware of the sharp rise and fall of his clavicles as he lay like a corpse wound in the confines of his bedsheets. He squeezed his eyes shut, desperately clinging to reason, telling himself as his parents so often had in the past that it was most likely only a tree branch that was hitting the window.

That had worked somewhat until, with a slow, deliberate creak, the window had been pushed open. His heart pounded and, reluctantly though unable to stop himself, he tugged the covers up to the bridge of his nose slightly, one remaining large blue eye peering out to see the great, horrific black mass crawl in a sickeningly animalistic manner through the open window. It was the familiar clawed hand which slid through first and then the other, both slowly, as though reverently caressing the wood of the windowsill. With ease, one heeled boot stepped up onto the windowsill and then the other, so that the thing perched there in the open window, the hands with their formidable talons anchoring its weight at each side of the window. Slowly the head with its smooth mane of black hair moved forwards, first merely strands of jet black visible and then the angular, rotting jaw and finally the slitted red eyes peered cruelly but curiously into the room.

Ciel did not speak, did not move, barely breathed, as the creature hoisted its weight through the window and into the bedroom, slowly, as though mockingly reigning in its true physical prowess. It approached the bed, its heels tapping slowly on the floor, and the boy residing within it bit back a tiny whimper, unwilling to show his true fear in front of the monster that took his eye, the monster that had offered him friendship. A clawed hand wrapped around one of the far posters of the bed and, in the darkness the room had to offer, the velvety hair was illuminated by the silvery if muffled glow of the moon outside. The head tilted slightly, that much Ciel could make out, and the strange red eyes blinked vertically as they had before.

"I can see you, little master," the thing purred in that deceptive voice. "I can see you very well, in fact. And I can smell you."

The boy said nothing. He simply stared at the creature, the bedclothes pulled up to his cheekbones. Now that he considered it, he was surprised that he could not smell the creature in return. He had been introduced to the stench of decay from an early age, when he found a decomposing bird in the garden. He had been very small at the time and, confused, had asked his father what had happened to it. The head of the household had dutifully complied, explaining to him the mechanism of death. Ciel had never forgotten that awful smell, the smell that had made him gag and retch horribly. And even though he could see the unmistakable signs of decay on the creature's face and between clawed fingers, he had never smelled anything from it.

"Are you not happy to see me?" the thing pressed, its voice faux in its disappointed air. "We have not seen each other, you and I, since you passed out yesterday. Were you not excited in the hope that I would come to visit?"

"Don't play games," the boy whispered finally, his voice harsh and betrayed but trembling nonetheless. "What do you want?"

"We made a deal, did we not? I desire to be by my master, to aid him in any trials or struggles he may face and to fulfill for him his _wish, _his desire for power."

"You hurt me!" Ciel snapped at last, the bonds that had reigned in his anger snapping. "You lied to me. You took my eye."

"Ah." The thing tutted, its sharp tongue flickering against pointed teeth. "No, no, no. You misunderstand. You see, that was simply part of the deal. An _appetiser_, if you will. This only strengthens the bond between us, when the payment was something as visible as an eye." The boy merely stared balefully at him, though he did lessen his grip somewhat on the sheets, allowing them to fall back to his chin. The monster took advantage of this, one clawed hand drawing forwards to catch Ciel's face as though examining the work done. "I could have taken another part of you, but I thought that this would be for the best." The creature's thumb caressed his cheek gently, talon dragging against warm flesh with each movement and Ciel flinched slightly at the feeling of the coarse, decomposing skin of the thing's hand against his face. With a swift, nearly unnoticeable movement, the talon of the thumb sliced through the bandaged wrapped around his eye and the monster let out a slightly husky exhale of delight at the sight of the wound. "It becomes you beautifully."

Ciel tugged his face out of the cool grasp. "You didn't tell me what you would do."

"And would you have let me if I did?"

Silence. Of course Ciel would not have allowed it. No-one wants their eye to be plucked out by a clawed beast.

"Ah, you see now? My actions were all for the best."

"What are you?" The creature's brow rose and Ciel sat up a little. This question had been nagging him for some time now. "What are you?" he repeated, "Where did you come from? Why are you here?"

"You really do not know?" The thing seemed almost amused and Ciel shook his head in frustration, a cherubic little pout forming on his lips as he glared at the monster as best he could. "I am a demon," the creature announced. "To answer your previous question, I am here because my hunger drove me to be so."

"You're... hungry?" Ciel pressed. He was frightened, yes, but by thinking of the thing as a monster, he had not been too far off the mark.

"Indeed. Of course, you will learn all about that in due time," the thing responded dismissively, moving on quickly. "I told you that I would make you into a great man, did I not? Do you think me to be a fraud?"

Ciel shook his head quickly. No, he did not think that this great, monstrous thing was lying to him. Its appearance alone was enough to certify that.

"Good," the creature smirked, seemingly satisfied. "Though it is clear that you don't trust me. You need to learn, my little master, that I am your most faithful servant," the thing announced with a mockingly theatric sweeping bow. The red eyes peered up through the curtain of soft, black hair. "But how to prove it to you? Perhaps if I were to assume the position of a familiar servant. My little master is to be an earl, is he not? It is only fitting that you should have a butler."

"We already have a butler," Ciel was quick to retort. "His name is Mr Tanaka."

"Is that so?" The curious red eyes lingered, before the creature stood up straight once again, one hand poised below its chin as though lingering in thought. "That won't be a problem," it murmured swiftly, more to itself than anyone else. It seemed to leave this state of consideration quite quickly, however, returning its attention to the boy before it. "Now, little master, I can't leave you looking like that, can I?" It gestured smoothly to the bandages which were slung around the sender neck like serpents. "Please, allow me." And although his small frame remained tense, Ciel sat up a little when he was bid to do so by beckoning fingers, encased within a dark, cavern-like pocket by the demon's arms as it reached around the back of his head to secure the gauze in place as it had been previously. Ciel took the opportunity to inhale slightly and decided that he definitely could not smell anything off the creature, which was just as well, really, as he didn't want his bedroom smelling of death for the considerable future.

"There now," the thing finally breathed, pulling away. "Good as new. I am afraid I must leave you now, my master," the demon stated as it slowly moved backwards and to the open window once again, hands clasped together and fingers intwined by its chest as though in prayer. "I must make preparations for the morrow, after all. Sleep well." And with that it exited once again, swiftly and, decently, with more humanity about its figure than when it had entered, leaving Ciel to ponder the meeting alone.

It had said that it had to make preparations. What preparations exactly those could be, Ciel could not fathom. Though it _had_ seemed rather interested by Grandpa... that sent a sickening little twist to Ciel's stomach. What was it planning to do? What if it sought to hurt Grandpa in order to take his position? No, Ciel quickly attempted to soothe himself. He was its master, after all. It wouldn't do something against his wishes, surely. And even if it did not seek to steal his position, Grandpa was an old man. What could a demon possibly want with a man like that?

He rolled over onto his side, pulling the covers up to his cheek and allowing his eyes to slide shut, though not without the vaguely nauseous feeling which had settled in his stomach, his insides twisting into knots. As he finally drifted to sleep, his dreams were filled with frightening red eyes and claws which flashed threateningly before his face.

:: ::

_Revelation 20:10_

"_And the devil who had deceived them was thrown into the lake of fire and sulfur where the beast and the false prophet were, and they will be tormented day and night forever and ever."_

:: ::

Tomorrow's only a kettle whistle away...

_[Placebo - In the Cold Light of Morning]_


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **And here is the next installment of Caym. Thank you again for your support, it's always great to see that people are following and enjoying this. I apologise for the slight delay in uploading this, but due to schoolwork and power cuts and such, life just got in the way a little. I hope you enjoy this chapter, nonetheless.

**Warnings: **Once again, not many. A little gruesome imagery, but nothing too dreadful yet.

_Caym_

"Young master, it is time for you to wake up."

Large, cerulean eyes slid groggily open just in time to see the elderly man pull back the curtains. They blinked slowly - once, twice - and the boy tugged the covers back further from where they were gathered around his chin, at once grimacing as this allowed a short gust of chilly morning air into the cocoon that had been formed during the night. Quite swiftly, the meeting of the night before presented itself to his memory and he stared, wide eyed with relief at the butler's back as he neatly tucked the curtains into place. It seemed that perhaps the demon had meant no harm to the old man after all.

"Today shall be most eventful," Tanaka continued. "It is the last day that I shall be serving the young master in such a manner."

At this, Ciel sat bolt upright in bed, his heart feeling as though it was constricting in panic. Perhaps the thing had done something to the old man after all. "What? What do you mean?"

But the butler simply regarded the boy with a small, warm smile. "My position within the household has been changed. After this morning, I shall be assuming my new position as house steward. I shall be dealing with the staff financial matters."

"But... why? Don't you like this job?"

The man held his gaze for a moment, before giving a small sigh as though fatigued and bending down to begin dressing the boy as he had done for so many years now, the same old dance. "I am an old man, young master. I am unable to sufficiently perform the tasks that being the Phantomhive butler requires. A new butler has been employed to fill my place."

Ciel wondered whether or not it was in fact possible for human blood to become ice, for he could swear that the red fluid filling his own veins and frozen. It trickled back to him, the memories like chilled water through a child's tender fingers. Last night the thing had mentioned the prospect of becoming his butler and Ciel had argued that they already had a butler, that they did not need another one. This could only mean one thing, of course, that it was the creature, the _demon, _that was filling the old man's position. Still, at least Tanaka was unharmed.

"And so," the butler (_previous _butler, it would seem) continued, taking no notice of the child's silence as he tugged woolen socks up to the boy's shins, followed by the shiny black shoes and a meticulous straightening of the red breast knot on his chest. "The young master's presence is required at breakfast this morning, where he will meet the new butler, Sebastian Michaelis."

_Sebastian. _It was true, then. It had to be. The name only confirmed it. The name that he had awarded the creature just before his eye had been plucked from his head.

The child shook his head defiantly. "I don't want a new butler. I want you," and with all the anger that a small boy can muster, he stared at Tanaka, the betrayal evident in his eyes. "The new butler won't know what to do. He won't know how to wash me or dress me, or make my hot milk before bed," Ciel exclaimed, horrified at the grave injustice that had been done to him.

The old man seemed taken aback. After all, Ciel had always been a placid child, never one to retaliate, nor to defy an adult's wishes. "I'm afraid there is nothing that can be done, young master. As of today, I am no longer butler to the Phantomhive family. Mr Michaelis is quite competent, I can assure you. You will be perfectly well cared for in his hands."

Ciel almost wanted to laugh at it, if it wasn't such a grave matter. He was anything _but_ safe in the monster's hands. The memories of those gleaming red eyes still haunted him, and for a little moment, the healing wound that was left of his eye seemed to ache with renewed intensity for a moment, though he ignored this with nought but the smallest of winces. Ciel was a brave boy now. He had to defend himself, and how could he do that if he could not even handle a little pain? He was thinking now, though. How on earth would a monster like that be let into the house? Had he used some sort of trickery on his parents? A childish image of the thing wearing a top hat and scarf along with a fake mustache. His lips curled a little in a reluctant little smile. The old man seemed relieved that the boy's mood had lightened somewhat.

"Now then, young master. Time for breakfast."

:: ::

The boy felt as though he was committing himself to a death sentence as he approached the dining room, peeping cautiously around the corner with custom shyness. What he saw, he had not quite expected. There was his father, sitting at the head of the table as always with the morning paper open in front of him, and his mother, angelic, to his right hand side, her back straight and slender hands folded in her lap. What surprised him was the dark figure looming ominously over his father's shoulder, smirk firmly in place. He could see that this was the creature, the resemblance was still there, yet it looked entirely different. It could almost pass as _human_. The skin was still snowy white, the sharp facial features still much the same, the hair still jet black, soft and feathery, but somehow more tame than it had been previously. The complexion was flawless, not a single ounce of the previous decay visible and the hands that had been taloned were now encased neatly in sleek, white gloves. No more were the smoking clothes, nor the priest-like collar, replaced instead by a full butler's uniform, the Phantomhive badge already glinting dimly in the light on his chest. But it was the eyes that the boy noticed the most, no longer luminously red, but muted to a deep burgundy in colour.

The child hovered by the door, cautious, and unwilling to go any further into the room. The butler looked up first and quickly noticed him, his smirk widening. Ciel glared balefully back at him.

"Ciel." He was almost taken by surprise, having almost forgotten about his parents' presence. His father was first to speak, giving a nod of greeting. "This is Sebastian Michaelis. He will be our new butler now."

"Good morning, young master," the demon intoned and his voice, Ciel noted, his _voice_ had not changed at all. Still that same smooth timbre, promising Heaven and offering Hell instead. The newly appointed butler stepped smoothly to the side so that a direct path was now offered to Ciel to approach him, and he held out one gloved hand in offering. The child did not move.

"You will have to forgive my son," his father stated. "He is a little shy around those he does not know well. I am sure you will become accustomed to each other well enough in due time. Ciel," he father looked at him, addressing him directly now. "Come forward and greet Sebastian."

As always, his father's voice was asserting though gentle, but still the boy could not find it in himself to move. His instincts shrieked at him to get away from the disguised monster, but he remained rooted to the spot. It was not until his mother also encouraged him, with a warning, "_Ciel_," that he woodenly took one step forward. His limbs felt heavy, as though he himself had become one of the little toy soldiers that he had assembled so precisely the previous day and it was all he could do to walk steadily forward, towards the grinning man and the hand that was still extended to him.

He finally reached his destination, and one small hand made its way unsteadily forward, only to be engulfed quickly by the gloved one. The demon, _Sebastian's_, hands were no longer clammy as they had been before, but warm and soft due to the coating of finely made white gloves.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, young master Ciel," the demon smirked, bend over at the waist so as to bring their heights closer, yet the boy was still easily put in his shadow. The boy said nothing in return, merely staring back at the new butler until his hand was released and his seat was pulled out for him, allowing to take his seat. Sebastian leaned over to speak in his master's ear and Ciel felt the driving need to pull back, pull away from the monster, but he stayed convincingly put. "This morning we have poached egg with a side of scone, English breakfast muffin, or toast. Which would suit young master today?"

"Scone," the child answered quickly, unwilling to talk to the butler for too long, and his choice was presented to him, still warm with condiments in small, glossy white pots and a small cup of milk based tea placed in front of him.

He had quickly as the tall figure retreated back into the shadows, buttering his scone with childishly clumsy fingers, licking the flecks of glistening red jam off his knuckles and the heel of his hand when his parents were not looking so that he wouldn't be scolded, all the while aware of the butler in the corner who took in his every move. Gruesome scenarios began playing out in his head, the what-ifs that children can often struggle with: _what if we were robbed? What if there was no sun? What if we didn't have any servants? What if...? _And one of those dreadful what-ifs was tormenting him now as he pictured the butler standing behind his father with a butter knife in his hand, and that butter knife being raised up and swinging straight back down again, whoosh, right into his father's head. Ciel dropped his line of vision back to his breakfast, but swiftly found that he wasn't hungry anymore.

"Father, I'm not hungry. May I be excused?"

Neither Vincent nor Rachel looked entirely satisfied, but eventually his father gave a, "Very well," nonetheless and he was free to leave the stifling confines of Sebastian's gaze.

He had not gotten very far at all, had only made it to the large sitting room near the front of the manor to slump down on the floor bedside the faithful family dog, small hands woven into thick dark fur and cheek resting on a softly rising and falling flank, when he heard the demon's voice again.

"Young master."

Looking up slightly, he was greeted by the sight of shiny, black shoes and then long legs and neat torso and then he was staring directly at the hateful face. He said nothing, instead continuing the weave his hands into the dog's fur. The man (thing) before him pulled a face of disgust when he saw the dog by his feet.

"Ah. So this is the animal that has become my namesake."

"What do you want?"

Sebastian seemed to return to his senses at that, his gaze returning to the small boy deemed his master. "Why, I have not fulfilled my end of our deal yet. I said that I would aid you in becoming a great man, did I not? I am prepared to keep that promise. With my help, you cannot possibly fail in any endeavor. With my help, you will be running your father's company in no time."

That pulled him in a little. For as long as he could remember, Ciel had striven to be like his father, had aimed to take over the company when the time came for his father to retire. But even so, he did not like the creature before him, had seen its true face and capabilities. "You lied," he stated shortly but accusingly, his cheeks never once leaving the warmth of the dog's fur. But there had been hesitation there and he had fallen back lamely on the same excuse and he knew that Sebastian had seen that.

"Ah, I did not, my little master. You see, lying and keeping you unaware are two completely different matters. I did not tell you that I would _not_ take your eye; I simply did not tell you that I _would_, you see? And was it not for the best? Now that our bargain has been initiated, I shall never disobey you and all it took was one little eye to... how shall I phrase it? _Sweeten the deal. _I shall never lie to you, young master. It is against my nature. Even demons such as I have our policies; we are not uncivilised beings. I believe you will learn this quickly as well. You are still very young and have plenty of room to grow."

"You won't lie to me?" The child repeated, one large, very blue eye peering up at the tall man in suspicion, staring searchingly for any hint of a faux statement.

"Never," the demon assured him and this settled him fairly quickly.

"However, I have not come to you without reason," Sebastian continued, holding out one gloved hand for the child to inspect. There, lying in the palm of the butler's hand, was a small, white medical patch. "It would seem that your aunt left this for you when she last visited yesterday and assured the previous butler that it would be best for you to begin wearing it today. Would you allow me to change your bandages for this?"

The child stared at him for a moment, considering whether or not he could be harmed during such a process. However, there was not a hint of bad atmosphere around the butler, nor any seeming compulsion to harm him, and so he nodded his consent. "Yes."

"Yes?" the butler repeated softly, in a nearly child-friendly manner, and Ciel soon found himself relaxing as the an knelt by his side, gentle, gloved fingers working with the bandage, removing it quickly but carefully in a nature far removed from that of the previous night, when all it had taken was the swipe of a talon and the bandages had tumbled off. The boy winced at the cool air hit the open wound and kept his fingers trailing through the dog's soft fur in a nearly compulsive manner. "Don't fuss now," the butler warned him gently. "This won't be but a moment." Swiftly, the softness of the bandages was replaced by the medical patch and the boy felt the butler's fingers working at the ties of the patch at the back of his head. It was not long before the man withdrew, burgundy eyes remaining focused on the small boy. "There now," he stated softly with a deceivingly light hearted, crescent moon shaped smile. All too quickly, the previous knowledge of the thing that the servant had been was melting quickly from the child's mind, frosting melting off a cake on a hot day, and he was becoming a charming fairy tail character of handsome face and trustworthy smile. Tanaka's replacement; Tanaka's _better. _Someone to tuck him in and bring him warm milk, someone whose hand he may hold. An adult that was truly devoted to _him. _It was startlingly easy to forget the rotting flesh and the sharp claws for as long as that smile stayed on his face, as long as those dark lashes remained lowered.

"Isn't that better, young master?" the butler pressed and Ciel gave a little nod, because yes, the small patch on his eye was far better than the heat of all those bandages pressing against his hair. As though reading his thoughts, Sebastian was quickly but meticulously straightening his hair for him, running gloved fingers through the silken, if rumpled, strands. "I believe we shall have to fix that later now that all those dreadful bandages are gone," he murmured, perhaps more to himself than to his little master. "Now. The young master did not eat very much at breakfast, did he? Perhaps he would like a little snack." The butler suggested smoothly and with childish ease, the boy was drawn in by the strange red eyes and the soft voice, nodding decidedly.

:: ::

The demon watched from his act of perfectly arranging the fine crystal on show in the cabinets in the small drawing room as his little master ate away happily at the little choux pastries he had prepared and served in no time at all, indulging the boy in allowing him to eat somewhere that was not the dining room. (_"But I'm not supposed to eat in here." "Think of this as a special treat, little master. Our little secret, hm?"_) After all, it would be no bother at all to remove any crumbs or stains left behind. However, Sebastian noted with a hint of amusement, it seemed that the child was meticulous in his cleanliness when it came to sweets, as though not willing to waste a single sugary morsel. His master (_and wasn't that hilarious in itself? That the pretty little runt was the one he answered to, even if the child did not realise it) _seemed even smaller by the flickering light of the fire that he so adored, like a lazy little kitten. And Sebastian had warned him thoroughly not to get too close to the flames, though it was with great reluctance. For the demon would be all too delighted to see the tiny body combust into flames, silken hair being eaten by it, little cotton clothes being decayed by the roaring, animate monster and flesh being bitten into, porcelain bones charred...

A human child was a peculiar thing. Though the soul lacked the flavouring of true evil, the soul of an innocent was something light, fluffed, like the desserts that he would come to prepare for the child in their hundreds. However, the soul would never be filling, never be _satisfactory. _This was an experiment that the demon had been interested in trying for a little while now. If he started early, could he tailor the soul to his liking? Many of the souls he had devoured over the centuries, over the millennia, were... overly spiced. Salty, greasy, fattening, whatever label that humans liked to plaster on these sensations. A soul was something to be handled delicately, and Sebastian liked to think of himself as something of a connoisseur. If the core of this little boy's being could be saturated in sin just-so, it would surely make for a delectable meal, something that the demon would remember on the tip of his rotting tongue for _years. _

And perhaps, just perhaps, he would be able to grab a little appetiser while the soul was still relatively untainted. The child seemed to trust him well enough in the course of only a day. How easy it was to lure these infants to him; a trustworthy face, a sickeningly soft voice and the promise of friendship, of treats and secrets and all manner of things that little boys delighted in. This was something that should be encouraged for as long as he could bear. The stronger the bond, the less aware the child would be that something sinister lay just underneath the water, and how delightfully horrified he would be to discover that his childhood friend had never been such. It made the demon's hollow, putrid stomach quiver with anticipation just thinking about it, made gloved fingers clench around the neck of a crystal vase with just enough control that it would not shatter under the pressure. This was not too difficult, Sebastian realised. He was learning and growing as though he himself was a mere babe. How long it had been since he had taken a more human form, one in which his ability and power should be restrained so as to blend. It was as easy as swimming, as natural as breathing, to remember these menial things.

The child's body undulated in a deep, groggy sigh as he lounged, a little princeling, by the hearth. Clumsy little fingers creeped upwards and wound, still grubby with sugar, into the once-clean strands of dark hair in a tired, subconscious movement. The demon was both repulsed by the pathetic little creature and enthralled. Such a sweet little thing, precious to his loving parents, yet so much hassle, so uncultured at this young age. The beast gave a little sigh (ah, yes, these mannerisms were not overly foreign to him at all.)

He made his way towards the dosing cherub and long, treacherous fingers gently guided the winding fingers away from those silken locks, dabbing at the corners of rose petal lips to rid them of the remaining sugar.

"Now, little master, such a mess you've made." The visible, wide blue eye was clouded by fatigue. "Time for your bath, I think, and then to bed with you."

But, to his surprise, the child shook his head. "Don't want..." he managed to mumble, before he interrupted himself with a wide yawn, plump little cheeks colouring just slightly and eyes moistening with his tiredness. The demon's previously smooth brow furrowed as he inspected the drowsy boy. Human children were terribly strange creatures, his thought decidedly. Ones that he was not used to, at that. His contractors had always been adults, of course, but here stood this little child, a child that had wanted someone to trust, someone to _play with. _And instead he had received Hell.

"Pardon me, young master?"

"Don't want bed," the child protested in a slurred mumble, his lower lip protruding defiantly a little, though even this seemed to be a great effort.

"Now, little master, don't be stubborn. As a child, you need plenty of rest. Come, now." One gloved hand was held out to the boy and, obediently, a small, warm hand made its was slowly into his palm and the boy trudged after him out of the room as though following his caregiver. Though, Sebastian supposed, that was his role now. In these first few years, he was the apron strings that the child could cling to. And, in future, his ladder to success, his sword and his shield to rise to power, no matter what actions must be taken; no matter what sacrifices were required.

_You are in for quite the surprise, little master. Just another two years until you are bigger and stronger and you understand the world a little better, and we will have obtained your very dizziest daydreams. _

Quite the surprise, indeed.

:: ::

_Isaiah 14:12_

"_How you are fallen from Heaven, O Day Star, Son of Dawn! How you are cut down to the ground, you who laid the nations low!" _

:: ::

**Secondary AN: **I feel as though I've deceived you all terribly regarding Tanaka! It seems a few of you were quite worried about him, but alas, for now he is safe. I just wanted to put you all on edge a little. I don't like doing things in an orthodox manner, and actually going through with anything right now just seems a bit too predictable. I want to strike when you aren't expecting it, so forgive me for that. I also hope you enjoyed hearing a little from Sebastian's point of view for a change, though I don't think his little excerpts will be too frequent. Just a little here and there to break things up. Oh and regarding Sebastian's true form, it isn't gone for good, you will be seeing more of it in subsequent chapters.

In the next chapter, we'll see butler and master get accustomed to each other a little more, and Ciel being lulled into a false sense of security, so I hope to see you then!


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **Hello again and welcome to chapter four. One thing I want to make most clear before you begin reading is that I made a mistake in the last chapter. A MISTAKE. At the very end of the chapter, I wrote, for some reason, "Just another two years," when I meant, "Just another _few _years." I apologise profusely. It was just a typing error and I have no large happening in mind for Ciel when he is ten years old. Furthermore, I realised my little slip-up in not accounting for the governess that generally would have taken care of children such as Ciel in the Victorian time period. I feel as though it's a little late in the day to be mentioning any such servant now, so we will just have to settle on the idea that the Phantomhives were a little unusual, and did not employ a governess but rather left Ciel's care primarily with Tanaka, as much as I dislike historical inaccuracies. Shame on me. Treasure Island is by Robert Louis Stevenson and was published in 1883, the year of this story. I do not claim to own it in any way. As always, thank you for your support and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Warnings: **Although this chapter starts out a little light and fluffy, beware of the gore which lies later on. Towards the end, things get really rather gruesome.

_Caym_

The second the door of his bedroom was closed with an entirely unthreatening _click, _the nightmares began.

:: ::

It had been rather strange at first, to be bathed by the man who had only that day entered their employ. However, Ciel quickly found that it was not so different after all, and that Sebastian was gentle and professional. He felt only the talented, long fingers rub gently at his scalp with human delicacy and the shivers down his spine were enough to erase just a little more of the memory of what exactly it was he had seen in his garden by the forest that fateful day. As Sebastian's fingers coursed through his hair and his mind (still drowsy from sitting by the fire and now more so by the warmth of the bathwater) drifted, he realised that he found it difficult to remember what exactly Sebastian's true form looked like. He remembered the glowing, catlike eyes and pale skin and, with some reluctance, talons (he quickly forgot about that, didn't want to think about those dreadful things at all) but the image was vague and somewhat distorted in his mind, as though he had seen it through a dream and not through his own eyes.

And perhaps... perhaps it _had_ been a dream - what was he to think then? No, he told himself firmly, of course it wasn't. Why, Sebastian had discussed the entire situation with him earlier that day, hadn't he? ..._Hadn't he? _It was all becoming terribly difficult, terribly frustrating. He tried desperately to remember what exactly it was he had seen, but only vague glimpses of earlier happenings were revealed to him. He remembered that Sebastian had served him tea, allowed him to eat it in one of the good sitting rooms, he remembered sitting by the fire as Sebastian had said that due to his poor health (surely Aunt Ann had told him of that) he should avoid catching cold. And before that... Ah, of course, Sebastian had tended to his eye and changed his bandages for him... _His eye. _That had been Sebastian, hadn't it? No... no, his eye was ripped out by a beast, he corrected himself. And Sebastian and the beast were not two of the same... _were they? _

He glanced up at the butler, at the handsome face and the kind burgundy eyes and the man seemed to sense the unease in his charge.

"Whatever is the matter, young master?"

Yes, he remembered Sebastian's voice easily enough. Sebastian's voice was warm and soft and made him feel strangely light. But he had to press on with the matter at hand. "What happened to my eye?"

The butler's smile was serene, peaceful like the angels that adorned the pictures in the museums that the family had to attend by social duty. Long fingered, pale hands guided him gently by the shoulders to sit up straight again so that they could continue their task as the man spoke, and the boy missed that slight twist at the corners of the butler's mouth as he considered his statement.

"You had a dreadful accident, my little Lord," the butler began smoothly, voice nonchalant, as though discussing the weather. "While you were playing outside."

"What happened?" the boy demanded again.

"You still do not remember? Oh dear, young master. What a shame. Your parents were rather hoping that your memory would clear soon and you would remember the events which unfolded on that morning, but apparently things remain less than hopeful."

And that really suggested that Sebastian was, in fact, not to blame at all. Ciel was not sure why he believed it so easily - perhaps it was the smoothness and confidence of the voice, or the stable hands which cleaned him, or the trustworthy, impeccably handsome face, but he had not the heart to question it. This version of events was easier, less complex, less _frightening. _He did not have to worry about monsters and instead could put his trust into the substantial figure of the adult assigned to watch over him, as had been fed into his subconscious over the years of his short life.

"Please stand up."

And he did so, petit frame giving a little shiver in the vaguely chilly air of the bathroom, though he was quickly wrapped in a large white towel, the butler thoroughly drying him off. His large, but freshly pressed nightshirt was draped over him with the utmost care and his teeth were brushed meticulously and it was a relief to feel truly clean again after being confined to bed in order to get over the shock of the loss of his eye. His parents had fussed, his mother called him a brave little soldier for being such a big boy about the whole traumatic experience, but Ciel had rather come to terms with the unfortunate happening. Perhaps it was because he truly could not really remember it very well. There was no good in being scared of something that you could not remember, after all.

"Now then, young master. Dr Durless instructed that your injury should be cleaned at least twice a day. So," the butler made his way over to the washbasin at the side of the room, already filled with warm water and with a small washcloth and other items Ciel could not quite make out from such a distance waiting by the basin. "If you would please allow me to tend to you."

Hesitantly, the boy made his way over to stand in front of the man, whose simple, crescent moon smile was already back in place. "Very good, little master. Now, this may well sting for just a moment, but it will be far easier if you are able to bear it for a little while." The child nodded his consent, though he still felt the nerves rock his stomach uncomfortably. Little hands, clammy with discomfort, bunched into fists at his sides as the washcloth was dipped into what he was swiftly but softly informed was a simple warm salt water solution to aid healing. He heard fine white gloves being removed, the subtle slide of fabric against skin, but he did not see them as he had already closed his available eye expectantly. The now bare fingers, surprisingly and comfortingly warm, prodded gently at the injured eye and it was a vast feat not to turn his head away from the offending digits. The lids, having fallen shut over the now empty socket, were very gently prized open and Ciel let out a soft, slightly trembling exhale at the unpleasant feeling that the action brought about.

Sebastian had been right - it did sting. Nastily, so. He bit back a whimper, flinching back slightly from the cloth and the butler paused in his actions until the child was settled again. "This won't take very long, young master. I apologise for your discomfort." Ciel did not respond, instead simply clenching his jaw and squeezing his functioning eye closed as the pain sparked through his nerves like brilliant, biting little fireworks.

Soon, however, he was aware that the cloth had withdrawn and the butler's voice sounded again, breaking through the blankness he had forced upon his mind in an attempt to ignore the uncomfortable sensation. "There we go, young master. All finished. We'll leave the patch off while you sleep so as to let air at the wound and encourage healing."

And Sebastian was so calm, so unshakeable, that, unknowingly, Ciel installed just a little more faith in him and the crevice in his mind between the beast and the servant was widened. Sebastian was no horror to him - he was sturdy and mysterious and graceful. He was everything that was to be expected of a Phantomhive butler.

"Come now, young master, and we'll get you settled into bed." The smooth mouth twitched upwards again into a smirk that blurred in Ciel's mind into a benign, crescent smile. And, with childish pride, Ciel managed to straighten the little vertebrae of his spine and pluck himself up with all the aristocratic air a little boy of his age should have, obediently but contently following the butler back to his bedroom as a fluffed duckling might follow its mother.

Within moments, the child was swathed in his sheets, heavy duvet pulled dutifully up to his pointed chin by the butler. Sebastian bid him goodnight, and reached over to cap the flame of the candle burning on the bedside table, before the boy protested, lower lip jutting and eyes shining that he was about to have been so scorned. "You can't just do that."

The man paused in his actions, gilded candle snuffer still in hand, and turned a little so as to face the child, who had now pulled himself up further in his bed, sitting straight backed with the carefully arranged duvet flopped over at his waist. "Pardon me?" Ciel felt a smug little glimmer of satisfaction at the cluelessness on the butler's face and held his head high, reasserting just _who _was in charge in the room.

"You can't leave yet. You haven't finished getting me ready for bed."

The man hesitated, his brow furrowed in consideration, before he responded. "I have bathed you, dried you, dressed you in your nightclothes, and tended to your wound. Forgive me, young, master, I cannot seem to see what it is that I have neglected."

And here came the flaws, naturally. Ciel almost laughed, that he could have thought Sebastian's talent could surpass that of Tanaka. Sebastian did not know how he liked things to be done. Sebastian did not know about his secrets. Well, the boy decided firmly, if he wanted things to be done correctly, he would just have to train the butler himself. "Well, to _start with,_" the boy began scathingly, shining cerulean eye harsh as he regarded the butler, "You haven't brought me my warm milk. Grandpa _always _gave me warm milk before bed, to help me sleep better. And I expect you to put honey in it this time, to make up for the inconvenience." When the butler made no action to move, he was regarded shrewdly. "_Go._"

There was only a moment of hesitation, before Sebastian ducked a small bow obediently and gave a hasty, "Very well, young master." When the butler had gone, Ciel relaxed against the headboard a little in satisfaction. That had gone surprisingly well. Tanaka had always scolded him for his sweet tooth, telling him that he shouldn't take honey in his milk right before bed, but it had been allowed on special occasions. And Ciel decided that this turn of events deserved a treat, considering the fact that he would now have to do without Grandpa looking after him anymore, having been replaced by the strange, red-eyed young man.

When Sebastian returned, he was pushing a cart laden with the milk and honey that his young master had demanded, Ciel noted. The drink itself, of course, could never taste the way it had when Grandpa had made it for him, even if it was merely heated up milk. However, it was passable. He enjoyed the sweetness of the honey on his tongue and the warmth in his belly as he sipped it slowly, his breath skimming across the surface of the white liquid as he blew at it gently so as not to burn himself, as he had been taught. The teacup was replaced on the saucer with a small _clink_ before both were swept up and replaced on the cart by a slender, gloved hand.

"Well, if that is all, young master, then I really should-"

"You aren't finished yet." When the butler remained stationary, one fine black brow raised a little at another interruption from his schedule, Ciel slipped out of bed (much to the man's chagrin by the looks of things) and clambered gracelessly over to the bookshelf at the side of the room, extracting a novel before tossing it at the butler on his way back to the bed. Sebastian caught the item with the fastest of reflexes, before pausing to read the title. _Treasure Island. _

"Grandpa always used to read to me before bed. It's a new publication," he added nonchalantly with a small nod towards the book. "Start on page thirty-five."

And so the butler had sat on the edge of the bed when bid to by the boy. Ciel lay back, able to settle himself now with the butler's weight on the mattress beside him, and assessed Sebastian's reading skills. There was a certain lack of expression, from which Ciel derived that the man was clearly unused to reading to children, and he certainly did not put on the silly voices that Tanaka had that had made him laugh with delight, but the voice was warm and melodic, soothing in its even quality, and the boy felt his eyelids drop as he began to drift away lightly, ears filled with the butler's voice.

:: ::

He thought that he may have woken for a split second, when the butler closed the door behind him. He thought that he may have seen the small sliver of light from the candle burning outside grow slimmer, and then disappear altogether as he was closed into his bedroom. Of course, this may have merely been a dream, or other such imaginings. But it did not really matter; not in light of what was to come.

They were looking at him. That was all Ciel was aware of at first. The shadows were looking at him, staring at him, examining him, and whispering to each other about it. He could hear them, but he could not understand them. They came closer and he realised, as the dread twisted around his heart, that he did not want that. He did not want them near him and he did not want them touching him. He just wanted them to leave him alone. Their hands were clammy as they wound around his bedsheets and pushed his hair away from his face. He was breathing hard now, his exhalations coming in short, sharp bursts as they erupted from his tight lips.

A strikingly familiar talon ran down his bare chest, which he was sure had been clothed before he fell asleep. Across the rosy bud of one nipple and down each rung of his ribcage until it reached the gentle slop of his belly. It slipped down this as well and paused at his navel. Terrified, he glanced upwards and saw two red, slitted eyes hovering above him and the whispering of the shadows intensified, rose in grisly excitement. The blackened claw ran upwards again, resting between the cages that his ribs formed - right above his diaphragm.

And then the pressure increased.

It began slowly at first, a mild discomfort, and then it started to get more painful. The talon began to break through soft flesh and he let out a startled whimper, which grew into a yell of both fright and pain as the claw drove through, but his arms and legs were leaden and all he could do was watch - watch and scream - as it happened.

The sticky, crimson blood welled up around the talon, spilling over the edges of the wound and running over his ribs as the claw sank deeper, before it was tugged down sharply, exposing the delicate insides to the harsh atmosphere that they were so unused to. He closed his eyes, too slow, as that harsh nail pulled downwards as though it were being scraped down the length of a blackboard, but he had already seen the repulsive, jellied intestines and organs, the vessels surrounding them ripped and torn and the foul stench of the fluid filling the air as the whispering of the shadows became perverse screeches, overridden only by his own shrill screams of pain and horror.

Cold, decaying lips clamped on around the wound, kissing and sucking and _devouring _and his screams were strangled as he gagged at the very idea of it. He was going to die here in his bed at the hands of these demons as the blood seeped from his body and his insides were ripped out and spilled messily around him.

A name rose to his lips, not that of his mother or his father, not even that of God, but his one salvation, twisted by fear and strangled and distorted by sobs, but understandable nonetheless.

"_Sebastian!" _

:: ::

What music it was, the child's howling and screeching as it echoed through the hallways of the mansion. Like a pig being slaughtered, the cries were shrill in their infancy and Sebastian followed them, though making no effort to hurry.

Things were progressing swimmingly, of course. In order to fulfill his little master's desire, a bond stronger than any other must be formed between them and he couldn't have something as menial as the distrust inspired by his earlier actions coming between that, now, could he? And so he had quickly seduced the boy, in the most innocent of terms, and had charmed him enough to earn a little trust. Of course, there was no harm in muting the memories of that grisly morning just a little, just enough to separate himself from the 'beast' that had permeated his little master's mind; the beast that was his true form.

And now it was time for the denouement, as it were - the Big Finish. Why, who else should come to rescue the little master from his nightly hauntings but he himself who starred in them? It was all too beautifully ironic. The boy would fall directly into the palm of his hand, where he belonged. Like the child he was, he would attach himself to whoever cared for him and in that moment his primary caregiver was Sebastian. Yes, everything had played itself out beautifully. The master and mistress were asleep as they should be, too deeply wound in their own slumber to hear the cries of the little ducky who was being so brutally disturbed from his own.

The shining black shoes halted outside the child's door, the shrill cries piercing in their intensity as he swiftly pushed the door open, candelabra in hand so as to cast a soft, calming glow over the surfaces that the room had to offer.

"Little master?" The gloved hand was cast through dark, sweat-soaked hair and the child's eyes snapped open, landing directly onto the glimmering pools of burgundy above him. Naturally startled, he shot backwards in the bed, far away from the servant. He trembled deliciously, like a little leaf on a crisp autumnal day. "Don't fret, my little Lord," the butler simpered, placing the candelabra down securely on the bedside table. "It was simply a nightmare. You are perfectly safe."

"Sebastian..." The truth was dawning on the little boy, he could see it in the remaining big blue eye. "Sebastian..."

"Yes, young master, I am here."

"Sebastian... They hurt me. They ate me." The boy's little frame was stiff, bird-boned shoulders shaking with uneven breaths. The boy moved unsteadily forward, towards his servant, and the tiny, damp hands wound themselves into the fabric of the butler's uniform.

"It was merely a dream. They cannot get you here," Sebastian assured him, resisting the urge to once again run his hand through those tousled strands of hair on the boy's soft crown.

"You have to protect me. Never leave my side," the child demanded, with strength of voice that took the butler by surprise. "Don't let them get at me, keep me away from them." His words were now rushed, a little breathier. "You're loyal to me. Don't forget that. Don't let them..." As the desperate murmurings trailed off, gloved fingers hooked beneath the boy's chin, effectively hushing him and the butler leaned down, smooth mouth now directly beside the pink shell of the boy's ear.

"I will never leave my master's side," he certified softly. "I will protect him until he draws his final breath. I shall be with my young master until the very end."

_Always. _

:: ::

_2 Corinthians 11:14_

"_Even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light."_

:: ::

**Secondary AN: **Well, I hope you enjoyed the latest installment and that I see you in the next chapter. One thing I just wanted to touch on, I suppose, is that I notice a _lot _of authors in every fandom say that if their latest chapter doesn't reach [insert number here] reviews, they won't update. I want to make it clear that I love and appreciate every single review I receive. What writer doesn't like to see people taking the time to give them feedback on their work? I take every review into consideration and the only time I would ever consider discontinuing a story is if updating it became more of a chore than an enjoyment. I have been writing from a very, very young age and it had always been an outlet and a source of entertainment for me. The fact that as I got older I discovered I could share what I write with others on the internet was an added bonus. Because, honestly, I lose nothing by doing so and I only gain from the lovely things that you leave for me to read. Some of you thank me for doing this in reviews, but really, it isn't necessary. I should be the one thanking you all for taking the time to read my work, even if you don't review. The fact that there are those of you out there who even spare it a glance makes me unbelievably happy. And even if it takes me a little while to update, please don't be discouraged and know that my writing is always there somewhere in the back of my mind. I want to treat my readers in the best way I can and know that I appreciate each and every one of you.

Well. Now that the sap fest of the century is over, I also want to make you aware that I'm considering starting a new project centered around Alois and Claude in the modern era. I have an idea that I rather like in my head, so hopefully when/if I finally post it, I'll see some of you there as well.

Oh, and here's a little fun fact for you - Ciel's nightmare was actually based on my own bad dreams. I'm sure you can imagine how fun _those _are.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **Wow finally another chapter of Caym! I'm very sorry that this one took so long to get out, but I've had so much schoolwork recently and some personal things to deal with on top of that (nothing personal, mind, just the usual cliched teenage drama queen stuff, you're aware of it, I'm sure.) But it's here at last and I hope you enjoy it. It's a little longer than my chapters would usually be, I think, so hopefully that will make up for my absence somewhat. Though it is a little slow-moving, I just wanted to develop the plot a little further so that I can move things along. Hopefully you like some of the interaction in here anyway. We hear quite a lot from Rachel in this one. The next one will be more focused on Ciel, though, so never fear.

I apologise for any typing errors I may have missed in my proofreading. I was eager to get this one out to you all, though, to assure you that this series is definitely not discontinued! I've just had to study a lot recently.

**Warnings: **None for this chapter. It's a little bleak, really, but that's it. And some of Sebastian's thoughts may be a little discomforting. And the usual Bible allusion at the end, if that counts.

_Caym_

Rachel Phantomhive stood at the window in her husband's study, looking out over the front lawn with a frown marring her pretty features. Behind her, thin wisps of smoke trailed upwards, dancing on the air, from her husband's cigarette. Pale, dainty fingertips tapped the mahogany of the windowsill in front of her, trailing over the wood, the nails catching on the few cracks and jagged edges that existed as she surveyed the scene occurring in the garden before her. Finally, she spoke.

"Does it not bother you?"

Vincent glanced up from his paperwork to observe his wife, a small furrow appearing between perfectly groomed brows as his fingers flicked the cigarette in his grasp, depositing the waste in the crystal ashtray in front of him. "Doesn't what bother me?"

"Their relationship." She didn't look away from the window, even as she voiced the concerns that had been plaguing her for so long, as though she was unable to cast her gaze away from the sight of her precious son. The boy in question was currently skipping innocently through the garden, hovering closely to the black-clad butler, as though unwilling to let him get out of sight, one tiny hand clutching at the butler's coattails. Rachel had scolded him for it before, telling him that he would crease and stretch the fine fabric and that it would be Sebastian who was to replace them should any damage occur to them. The butler, however, had merely regarded her with his signature smirk, as though humored by her worries, and had told her not to be concerned about it, and what sort of butler would he be if he could not ensure that his uniform was always impeccable? And impeccable it was, she could not fault him that.

It was not this, however, that particularly bothered her. Rather, it was the speed at which her son had accepted the new butler, the very same butler who had claimed the place of the man he had called Grandpa. As Ciel was of such poor health, he was not often able to go outside and thus was unused to much human interaction, leaving him a little wary of new people. The very day after he had been introduced to Sebastian, however, he was never seen out of the sight of the butler, and had wailed so heartily when Sebastian had disappeared into the kitchen to aid in the preparation of dinner, that it had become house policy to keep Sebastian out of the kitchen when possible and a blind eye was turned when necessary to allow young master Ciel to slip into the kitchen alongside the butler on some occasions. It was... abnormal, surely, for a child to be so particularly fond of a servant. Rachel had half a mind to ask her sister-in-law, the Marchioness Midford, for her opinion on the matter, as Francis always had been a woman of reason. However, she could not quite bring herself to, as though the strange relationship between butler and child was something shameful. She had tried desperately to convince herself that it was a mere case of separation anxiety on Ciel's part, though lately she was having particular difficulty in extending this excuse. Particularly when her baby boy seemed more dependent on the servant than he was on her, and that did not quite sit well.

"Don't you think it odd," she continued, "That Ciel is so very fond of Sebastian?"

Her husband crushed the cigarette against the sparkling crystal of the ashtray and folded his hands upon the desk, the Phantomhive family ring glinting on his finger as he stared evenly at her. "Why should I think it odd? Do you not trust Sebastian?"

Rachel considered this for a moment, before ripping her gaze away from the child and his companion and turning to her husband. "No, it is not that I do not trust him. He seems equally fond of Ciel. I just think it a little odd that Ciel should be so... attached to a servant."

As she spoke, however, she could see that she was quickly losing her husband's interest as he lifted his papers, shuffling them into order and tapping their edges on his desk, thumbing through them as though to ensure that they were all in order. "Let them be, dear. There is no harm being done. Sebastian is hardly complaining and if Ciel's company does not distract him from his work, then I see no reason to worry. If anything, I would have thought you pleased that Ciel was straying away from his cradle, as it were. You were worried not so long ago that he was not receiving enough social interaction."

"I was referring to people of his own age group," Rachel was quick to return. "Though... I suppose there is no harm in it," she concluded, if a little reluctantly. "Ciel is happy." She turned back to the window to see the child happily babbling away to the servant, a nearly morbid sight to observe the utter trust in the one oceanic blue eye that so mirrored her own, considering that the other was covered by the more comfortable white medical patch. The butler did not seem put out at all by this, making his way back towards the house after having consulted the gardner about future plans for the shrubbery as she had told him to, his gaze fixed on the boy and his usual subtle smile resting on his pale lips.

She jolted in surprise at the scrape of the desk chair as it was pulled back, scraping along the wood of the floor and her husband was swiftly behind her, one hand resting in a briskly comforting manner on her shoulder. "Yes. He is. Sebastian would take a bullet for him, we both know that."

"He won't have to," Rachel responded, a near warning tone in her voice as she turned a little to make eye contact with the man once again.

"No," Vincent agreed. "He won't. Therefore, you have even less to worry about." A kiss was planted upon her cheek and she gave a half-smile as her husband retreated, presumably to meet with the butler in question and have him send away the completed paperwork. As her husband retreated from the room, however, Rachel became aware of the small smile slipping from her face and being replaced by a frown. The butler, who had been making his way back towards the front door, paused and turned his beautiful head a little, an expression of innocent surprise overcoming his features as his eyes made contact with hers. He smiled, and the simple chance of facial features seemed all too fitting and terribly out of place all at once. A half bow later, one long-fingered hand resting gently over his heart, and a joyful wave from her beloved son, and the odd pair had returned to their business, making their way back inside.

:: ::

The state of things grew progressively stranger as the weeks rolled sluggishly by and Rachel found herself to be growing more and more concerned. Ciel was simply not himself. He had always been shy, yes, but he had been good-natured and obedient. His sweet temperament, however, appeared to be quickly melting away as the days passed. He was reclusive and, when not around his beloved butler, he grew to be quite fussy. And so, for everyone's benefit, the servants ensured that Mr Sebastian's time was used up as little as possible. Rachel herself had snapped once or twice on a particularly bad night that she was unsure as to what exactly they were paying the butler for - whether he was indeed a butler or simply a nanny. Vincent, as bad luck would have it, simply did not stand for this and told her many a time that Sebastian's role was vital to the company.

It was some time later, however, more than sixth months after the butler's arrival, that things reached their crux. And the happening came in the form of God.

:: ::

"But I don't want to go to a silly old church."

Burgundy eyes trailed slowly upwards from where they had been fixed on tying starched and pressed shoelaces. His customary smile lining his mouth, the butler responded in humoring the child before him where the boy knew by nature that many of such a station would not. "Is that so? And why do you dislike them so?"

Resisting the urge to kick his feet in agitation, the boy settled for tensely curling his toes inside the soft, protective layer of the leather boots - a habit he could not recall settling into. His shoulders jerked upwards in a shrug, little fingers knotting into the bedsheets. "I just don't_ like_ them. They smell and they're boring and they're drafty." He was frustrated, longing for the adult to see his perspective as many adults failed to do. The day had not come yet where Sebastian showed an unmanageable lack of understanding, but Ciel waited for the day. There were certainly many things that the butler said that the boy could not quite grasp and, though irritating at times, he found himself able to move swiftly past such things, finding a distinct lack of satisfaction in the gap in mental capacity between himself and a servant.

"I cannot say that I disagree with you there, young master." That was enough to ease a little of the tenseness of his body and the discontent which sat heavily in his heart. "Churches are indeed rotten places. However, I should ask you to refrain from voicing your opinion once inside the building. It would be most unfitting for the heir of Phantomhive to appear sour on such an important day."

That was something else that Sebastian had taken to calling him quite lately - the heir of Phantomhive. And the way his tongue flickered around his syllable was curious to Ciel, as though the butler took great pleasure in saying such a term. Sebastian called him many things - young master, young lord, and, with a teasing lilt, little master, or little lord. Never his first name, of course. And he refrained, when possible, from calling him even Master Ciel, as many of the other servants tended to. Perhaps it was simply because he liked to remind himself and those in the near vicinity that he was superior to the other servants, or, perhaps, Ciel ventured with a little jolt to the rhythm of his beating heart, perhaps it was because he wanted to remind people of his loyalty, of his closeness to his master. And how very grand it was to have such a man in servitude to _him _(this, again, was something that Sebastian seemed to delight in reminding him frequently.)

"Fine," Ciel found himself muttering reluctantly, now beginning to swing his legs a little. The skinny ankle, however, was stilled in the grasp of an elegant, gloved hand.

"Now, now, little master. Where is that prized smile of yours, hmm?" the butler simpered, turning soothing mahogany eyes towards the child and the familiar crescent smile. As the boy's cold exterior finally crumbled, his lips twitched inadvertently into a docile smile and the raven haired man smirked, satisfied. "Ah, there we are. Now, I will be very pleased indeed if you are able to remain in such good spirits during the ceremony, young master. We shall show everyone what a charming boy you are."

Ciel, however, was not to remain in such good spirits for much longer.

It was as the family gathered in the entrance hall that Sebastian came to a jolting halt, those strange burgundy eyes widened marginally as he brought one hand to cover his mouth, back stiffened, and gave a short but violent cough. An icy terror immediately gripped Ciel's stomach as he watched the foreign display of weakness in front of him. When he turned to see his own surprise mirrored on the faces of his parents, his heart plummeted. Never before had such an... _imperfect _sound been heard from the statuesque butler. It was Vincent who spoke first.

"Are you unwell, Sebastian?" The man's voice cut through the silence following the cough, the disbelief shining through like a flame through darkness.

"I fear I may be, my lord," Sebastian responded and Ciel then realised that the odd, reddish eyes were unusually dull, the butler's entire frame wilted as though it was the weakening stem of a flower.

"Perhaps you should not attend the ceremony," Rachel intercepted and Ciel shot her a look of disbelief. His lips had barely parted to protest before his mother continued. "Well, think of the consequences; a drafty church will do nothing for your health, particularly if it is a chest cold you are developing, Sebastian." And Ciel was quick to notice the unfamiliar sharpness to his mother's usually even, gentle tone of voice. The morning was unravelling quickly as the panic that he generally felt when Sebastian was not in his presence began slowly to seep into his body.

"I am afraid that may be for the best, my la-"

But the sentence was not even out of the butler's mouth before his young master interrupted him hastily. "_No_." Shame soon made it's unwelcome appearance when he saw the raised brow that his father presented him with at the outburst, but the fear of being without his faithful servant easily overcame this. "I don't want to go unless Sebastian is there as well." His mother seemed to wilt at his words, for some reason, but Ciel didn't care to look too far into it. He supposed she was simply exasperated and didn't want to have this conversation.

"Ciel," she began wearily, looking far older than her years, "Sweetheart, Sebastian said himself that he isn't well enough to go to the church. Lizzie will be terribly disappointed if her cousin is not there to see her first communion." Her eyes were deep, beguiling, the same shade of clear blue as his own and yet the desperate pull deep within him would not allow him to obey.

"But if Sebastian isn't well, he might need me to take care of him," Ciel protested, his little frame tense, brow furrowed stubbornly. This statement drew a chuckle from his father.

"I am sure that Sebastian is quite capable of taking care of himself. We'll have Mr Tanaka ensure he is checked up on throughout the day," the man assured him, though this did nothing to settle the boy.

The panic was bubbling beneath his flesh now, raising its ugly head like some great beast deep within him, clawing at his insides... That thought brought him back to his nightmares, the ones from which he would awake screaming, and the fear grew worse, his hands uncomfortably clammy. "No," he tried again, though his voice was notably weaker, more of a plead than anything else. "No I don't want to go."

"Now, young master," Sebastian intercepted smoothly in that hatefully even voice, "You will be fine without my presence for a few mere hours. Remember, it is your duty to honour such a noble family." The butler's eyes held his for one long moment, the usual glint reappearing for only a split second before the weariness took over once again. _Go, _those eyes told him and he found himself nodding slowly.

Vincent, who had maintained, for the most part, an aura of nonchalance towards the happenings of the morning, broke the silence at his son's sudden willingness, unprepared to question it as long as the peace was kept. "Very well, then. Sebastian, you are free to retire for the remainder of the day. If you are in need of anything, Mr Tanaka will tend to it."

A short bow from Sebastian later and one last, lingering glance from his young charge, a word with Tanaka and the family were bundled into the carriage awaiting them and on their way steadily to the church. Still the feelings of uneasiness crept like ice through Ciel's veins, but he stared out of the window with steadfast resolve and a strong, innate knowledge as to how he was to behave today.

:: ::

Once again, Rachel Phantomhive was unspeakably uneasy. She knew that there was a change in her, that she was tense and sharp, but under the current circumstances she could not quite seem to help it. Ciel was... different. She would not go quite as far as to say he was no longer her little boy, but rather as though he had been enchanted _(cursed) _by some wicked thing. He smiled politely at relatives and friends and business acquaintances at the church, had allowed his cousin to hug him clumsily without reciprocation and had spoken only when addressed directly. He was an ideal child, in all senses. But he simply was not himself, not the cheerful, bright little boy that had grown up under her care. He shied away from her touches as though she were a stranger, his smiles were guarded and not genuine, his eyes no longer shone with simple, childish joy, but rather shifted uncomfortably about the church as though expecting to be attacked when not under the watchful eyes of his favourite servant.

The day rolled sluggishly by and she could not seem to want to be in her own son's presence, not when he refused to cling to the many layers of her dress as he usually would have, not when he tugged his hand from the warm hold of hers without a word. He was not petulant, he was simply cold, foreign, and she could not quite discern why. Perhaps she had made her distaste for the butler a little too obvious before their departure, but surely that could not be cause enough for his attitude towards her. No... she realised. This was no short term thing. It had begun swiftly after Sebastian's arrival and had only worsened in the weeks which followed.

She was pulled from her thoughts when a woman around her age, some distant friend of the family, she was sure, reached over to kiss her cheek. "Such a charming boy, your son Ciel," she gushed rapidly with an overly bright smile. "It is not often that one encounters such a delightful child." And Rachel merely smiled weakly, nodding her thanks and agreement, though she could not be sure how truthful she found the latter to be. The day followed in a similar pattern, as she and her husband were both showered with compliments and well wishes for the little Phantomhive heir. And it seemed that everyone simply adored her son, that he was quite delightful in everyone's presence... with the exception of her own.

:: ::

Sebastian could not be more pleased with the rate at things were progressing.

His little lord was all too easily impressionable. It did not take great effort to have the boy listen to him. Of course, there were often sparks of disobedience, but more frequently than not he found the boy behaving well, doing his bidding simply because he trusted his caregiver. What a terribly foolish mistake. Why, at this very moment the boy would be in the church, winning over the hearts of those around him. And, when the time came, he would be supported in every aspect, would have the sympathy and the adoration of the people in is life, would hold them all in the palm of his dainty little hand. Sebastian could barely suppress his glee at the thought. Powerful souls are, after all, all the more seasoned.

He reflected on his time in the boy's presence. It had not yet been a year and the boy was entirely devoted to him. He was mother and father, he was sword and shield, he was puppeteer and nursemaid. And he did not overly mind being tied to the boy. Little Ciel Phantomhive was innocent, that much was strikingly obvious, but he was also sharp - very sharp, in fact. His intelligence was high and intermingled with both his childish curiosity and the natural sunniness that Sebastian found himself seeking to preserve rather than sully just yet, he was a perfect specimen for educating. The child would often beg for bedtime stories before he slept, little fingers clinging tightly to the butler's sleeves and, naturally, Sebastian obediently indulged him, doting on him. It began with fairytales - modified versions of the Grimm's tales suitable for his delicate, pinkish ears. Over time, however, Sebastian had found amusement and purpose in structuring his own stories, perhaps slipping in a gruesome little detail here and there from the original tales and he was encouraged when the little boy did not flinch. He found himself introducing politics more and more, a few current affairs, perhaps, so as to allow the boy more easily to understand what was happening in the world around him, the techniques that were necessary to procure power and to induce a little interest in such things. Sometimes, however, they would be short, lamentable little tales of his own past and experiences that he would feed the drowsy child as he drifted off to sleep, nimble fingers winding into his own soft locks of hair as he did so _(as though feeding souls to a fledgling demon, one who had not yet found their own feet.) _In any case, though, he would find himself talking well into dawn after the child had already slipped into his troubled sleep, only to be interrupted by the nightmares that he himself caused, always ready to comfort the boy, to offer an extra blanket for his damp, chilled skin or a drink of water for his poor, strained voice. And, in the dark of the night, in the shadows of that bedroom, at times he would press a soft kiss to the boy's sweet, fevered brow - one that would be forgotten come morning.

To say that he _cared _for his human charge would be far too strong a term. Interest and emotional input were two completely different things. He enjoyed the boy's presence, enjoyed spending time with the young child, one far younger than his usual... _clientele. _And the boy's perception amused him, at times even went as far as to impress him. But the hunger still gnawed at his stomach and, in the end, the boy was his meal. His own little body of soft, soon-to-be-ripened flesh to sink his teeth into. And he could barely wait.

The only downside to his current plan was that it required the rest of the household to believe him ill. And the old man, Tanaka, had made his less-than-welcome appearance not long ago to ensure that all was well, but he was quickly dismissed. Sebastian had merely coarsened his usually smooth voice, insisting that the old man make sure that the rest of the servants were not causing havoc in his absence. He lay currently on the small, less than comfortable bed that had been provided for him. The furniture in his room was sparse, as he had very little need for it. The room itself was, of course, barren of sentimental items for he had none. The only exception to this rule was the very small personal painting of his human charge that he had snatched from a hallway table in one of the many, lesser used wings of the house. It was not missed and so he held the gilded little frame between capable, gloved fingers as he reclined on the unforgiving mattress that reminded him all too much of 'home.' The child's likeness smiled sweetly at him, the big, blue eyes filled with childlike carelessness that was no longer present, thanks to his input. He felt a small flicker of pride at that.

The workings of a demon's 'relationships,' or the closest things thereof that they are capable of having, are a peculiar thing. The urge to protect is replaced by the urge to possess. The urge for contact and closeness is replaced by the urge to devour, and the urge to show affection is replaced by the urge to sully. It is a great, tangled web of things which human minds cannot comprehend, as that is simply not how society works. A demon's mind, however, is a dank cesspit in which all of these features slot nicely, diabolically, together. And presently in Sebastian's own decaying mind, it was Ciel Phantomhive who was becoming entangled in this great perverseness. It was the little Phantomhive boy that Sebastian wished to rip limb from limb, to sully with black tar. And, naturally, a demon will get what it desires one way or another.

Now all there was to do was to wait until his young master returned home, preferably full of stories indicating that the day had been a success and that the boy had been as popular as the demon had predicted after his careful lectures, slipped in small pieces to the boy over the past months. Of course, there was only one small flaw to his plan. He did hate to use barbaric tactics, but at times they were simply the last resort, and this was one of those times. One small flaw that could easily be quickly wiped out. And perhaps such an act would benefit all involved after all.

:: ::

Naturally, when little Ciel Phantomhive returned home that evening he immediately sought out his favourite servant, who was dutifully waiting for him whilst steadily polishing the family crystal. Lord Phantomhive reprimanded him from rising from bed, however, the butler merely turned this away with a polite smile, insisting that he felt a great deal better. As expected, the little lord could not hold his tongue and was simply gushing to his loyal dog in rapid, childish chatter, searching desperately for affection as though starved. And the butler dutifully obliged with the child's wishes, nodding gently and giving soft, encouraging words of praise when required.

As always, Sebastian tucked his little master away, cocooning him securely within the thick layers of blankets to ensure that his weak, little chest would not deteriorate further, for this was an unfortunate flaw in the structure of the boy's body and he was careful to be mindful of it, always. He entertained the child with light tales this night; tales of princes and wicked witches and castles in far off lands that the boy could only dream of. It was nights like this one that he felt more of a nursemaid than a butler, however, he knew that such an appearance was necessary, that this was the only way he could gain the small boy's trust and so he would bear with it.

What he did not expect was for his usual routine to be so sharply interrupted.

:: ::

Lady Phantomhive had made her decision. She would approach her son tonight before this (whatever exactly _this _was) unfolded any further. She was unsure as to what exactly she would do, perhaps simply press a goodnight kiss to his forehead before he drifted to sleep, however she knew that whatever it was _something _simply had to be done. She had not expected, however, the horrific screams that echoed down the hallways near Ciel's bedroom. An immediate panic beating rhythmically through her heart, she hurried her steps frantically until she reached her child's bedroom door, coming to an abrupt halt, the pale brown hair loosened from its meticulous style and hanging in disarray around her pretty face.

She had just grasped the gilded door handle when the door was pulled forcefully back, revealing the tall, impeccably gentle, slender figure of the butler that she so regretted employing. And Ciel's screams still sounded, reaching a point of hysteria.

"My Lady," the butler greeted, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Let me in," she demanded instantly, attempting to crane her neck to see her son in the deep shadows of the room. Those hateful, burgundy eyes narrowed in response.

"I am afraid that the young master is simply suffering from another of his nightmares. It will soon pass. I really must recommend that you remain outside until he is a little more settled."

At the familiar, horrid little smirk that twisted those silken lips, Rachel felt the fire that had laid dormant for too long ignite inside of her. Gathering her courage against the strange figure that had walked- no, that was not the right word had all; strolled, strode, waltzed directly into her life, she drew herself up to her full, is slightly lacking height, and stared into the sharp, burgundy eyes. She could barely believe that he had seemed so unwell earlier that very day. No, she could not believe it. "You will let me into my son's bedroom."

There was a hesitation, a reluctance, a sense of distaste that she couldn't stand. The odd, reddish eyes seemed strangely lacklustre, their usual shine dulled. Finally, with an uncharacteristic tightness to the smooth voice, the butler spoke. "Very well." He reached behind him, opened the door, and stepped aside to allow her entry.

Immediately, she was greeted by the sight of her son, thrashing in the bed and wailing and she felt something deep inside her weaken, some invisible structure in her chest crumble. Immediately, she rushed to him, reaching for his shoulder and whispering his name hurriedly, near feverishly. What she had not expected, however, was the harsh slap which was delivered to her cheek. Time seemed to pause for a moment as she retreated immediately, one hand clasped over the warmed, stinging flesh in stunned silence. The quiet of the room was itself a quiet roar in her ears and she understood quickly that, yes, silence could in fact be deafening.

Ciel's little chest heaved, his one visible eye wide and frenzied, hair tousled and sticking to his temples from the fine sheen of sweat that had gathered there. He did not looked horrified to have lashed out, did not even seem aware of himself in fact. Instead, he only gasped three words. "Where is Sebastian?" At that moment, in that very important second that marked one of the most potent of her own personal history, she could not even find it in herself to be wounded. She felt merely numb with shock, as though this was not happening to her at all, but rather to some poor, unhappy individual in a long-forgotten novel rested on some perfectly polished shelf of one of their libraries. This was not her life, just as this was not her baby boy. She stood on shaky legs, turned from him (he gasped still, begging for his beloved servant) and made her way unsteadily to the door of the room. There stood the foreboding, shadowy figure. She paused before him, took in that disgustingly perfect face, the vile perverseness of its porcelain-like beauty and gazed at him with all the hatred that she was capable of in her pure heart. She could only think of one thing, and she was surprised at how easily it came to her lips.

"He never had nightmares before you arrived here."

With that, she retreated from the silent man down the hallway, just able to hear her son's distressed bleating of "Sebastian," quell as the butler assumedly went to him. She was not to know, however, of the plot unfolding in that romantic figure's mind as he calmed her son.

:: ::

_Matthew 25:41_

"_Then he will say to those on his left, 'Depart from me, you cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels."_

:: ::

**Secondary AN: **I know, I know, you would think the long author's note at the beginning would be enough. But I had one thing that I just wanted to touch on; to lemonsquare, thank you very much for your review and your compliments, but your comment about Ciel's eye did leave me a little confused. I hope the change doesn't bother you, I just wanted to put my own twist on things, I suppose, haha. Plus I wanted to jump directly into some form of action, and the scene came into my head so... yes. It is what it is.

I'd also like to thank you all for your reviews and support and, most notably, for reaching 50 follows! Which is rather impressive considering that this is only the fifth chapter. So thank you all and hopefully you won't be waiting too long for the next chapter. I'm also considering creating a twitter account for my fanfiction. I know I already have a tumblr, but I think a twitter would make for easier, more accessible updates. I should also have that Claude/Alois fanfiction out soon, so keep an eye out!


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **Finally, a new chapter. I apologise for the delay (almost two months!) but I've been doing my AS Levels (to those who are unfamiliar with the British school system, all you need to know is that they're a month's worth of absolutely hellish exams.) Between those and writer's block I was a little tortured with this chapter, but I've finally worked out where I'm going (I think.) Luckily, I'm off for summer now so hopefully my motivation will be boosted. I'd like to say thank you to those who are the patient faithful and welcome to those of you who are new. I wrote an extra long chapter to make up for my absence.

**To CannibalsWelcome - **I just had to mention your review in this chapter because you have no idea how happy it made me! Anne Rice is hands down one of my favourite authors so it put the biggest smile in my face to be compared to her. Thank you so much! And thank you to everyone else who reviewed as well, your messages are always very appreciated.

**Warnings: **Violence, disturbing scenarios and general... grossness. Also dubcon het! ...Sort of. You'll see.

_Caym_

"Sebastian, when will I be big and strong?"

"Soon, my little lord," the butler promised softly, dropping an unnoticed peck upon the child's temple as he tied the ever-present eyepatch into its place over the wound that he himself had _lovingly _created.

"Sebastian, what are you?"

The butler merely smiled. The boy's voice was tired, weary. And of course he would be both of these things, sustaining his manservant. The _change_ was bound to leave a rather lasting impression though it was, admittedly, a painfully slow process. "I don't know what you mean, little master."

"Are you an angel?" the boy tried softly, his voice vacant as though not really putting much thought into the question. The inquisition, however, made tiny lines appear between his brows in a frown. Surely the boy should not be able to detect a difference in him now, not after all his careful mind work. But perhaps this guise was not as infallible as he had previously thought it was.

"No, my lord," he answered simply. "But I am everything you need. You would do well to remember it. I am your sword and your shield, am I not? I am created from your deepest desires. Perhaps someday I will let you taste them. But you need not worry about that for a long time yet."

The child was silent after that, pondering the sentence, deep confusion evident upon his features. Sebastian, however, did not elaborate. His offer could be taken in whatever way the child liked. There was more than one way in which something could be devoured, of course. And as much as Sebastian, in some part, adored that idea of pouring foul blackness into the child's mouth himself from his own stomach (or the deep, dark pit there in its stead, perhaps) he would take the other meaning of his phrase into consideration as well, as this was not exactly an unfavourable idea. But the boy was not yet ready, not yet ripened. Sebastian had many choices to make regarding the child's future, and these he would mull over at his leisure whilst quietly, sluggishly, draining the boy's own energy from him.

:: ::

Relations in the Phantomhive household remained frosty. Rachel remained distant, drawing ever further away from both her husband and child. She felt a distinct discomfort constantly within her breast, as though insects were scuttling across her sternum. This discomfort only increased when she was subjected to the strange burgundy eyes of her son's butler. She knew that there was little reason in informing her husband of her concerns. The man had already firmly assured her that he placed his trust fully in Sebastian Michaelis. And, due to this, it was an unfortunate turn of events that Rachel's own trust in her husband began to dwindle swiftly.

The months rolled on, her son had a birthday. At nine years old, the change that had come over him was astounding. Not in the way of most children, perhaps a slightly straighter back, a higher sense of pride, an increase in height. No, the child had undergone none of these. Rather, his skin was sallow, lily white. Where it had once been gently sun-kissed and flushed at the cheeks and temples, it was now ghost-like in its appearance. His eyes were shadowed in deep bruises from his lack of sleep and he had receded from her now almost entirely. He was now longer her happy boy, but rather some nervous, wraith-like creature who clung to the ever-smiling butler, as though it was he who drained her son's energy from him. The boy had not grown one inch, but rather remained hopelessly behind his peers and his knuckles and knees appeared to be bony. She did not doubt that were she to see him without clothes, the rest of his frame would appear equally emaciated. And yet he ate at mealtimes; she saw him eat, though she could barely stand to look at him.

Perhaps the worst part of all of this was that neither her husband, nor anyone else, seemed to notice these changes alongside her. She was terribly guilty to think it, but perhaps the pain would not be quite so sharp were she to share these feelings with someone else - someone who would assure her that she was not going mad, that was, as recently she was beginning to doubt herself and that alone set fear like a leaden weight in her stomach.

It was on one particular hot, summer evening where she found her brow damp with perspiration that Rachel Phantomhive's story was to be concluded in the most unfortunate of ways.

On the evening in question Rachel had withdrawn to one of the many drawing rooms, as she found herself to be doing quite frequently these days. Away from the husband who now seemed cold to her and away from the boy whose eyes were empty and away from the butler whose smirk never left his face. She fanned herself gently, a small novella clutched in one hand, her eyes moving listlessly over the text. The smell of her own perfumes and powders pervaded her nostrils and the room was perfectly silent with the exception of a small rustle now and then as she turned the page, and the movement of air as her fan cut through it. It was a rare moment of peace, and she did not take it for granted. Dinner was scheduled to take place in half an hour, and she could not exactly say that she was looking forward to it. She hated seeing her family crumble before her eyes, seeing things change in a way that she could not detect nor put a stop to.

She did not know where her son was, though she did know that it did not particularly matter, as the black-clad butler would undoubtedly be nearby. After the incident a few months prior, in which the boy who had once been her son had lashed out at her, she had taken to avoiding the other inhabitants of the house altogether when possible, having no desire to be reminded of that night. At first, her husband had made the attempt to pull her out of her wallowing, but seeing that there was little that could be done for her, he seemed to have resigned himself and simply given up.

Her thoughts were interrupted, however, when the door to the drawing room was knocked and then opened. Marking her page in her book, she glanced up, only to feel her heart tighten and her eyes narrow to see the reddish eyes set in the perfect alabaster face looming by the doorway. Generally, the butler knew better than to disturb her and seemed to keep his distance, and that was how she had liked things. Apparently, today he had felt the need to see her himself.

"My Lady," he announced, the smirk lining his face all too derogatory in her eyes, "Dinner is ready."

It was somewhat surprising to see the butler without the usual addition of the child clinging to his coattails, and she expected that he must have pried the boy away in order to get him settled at the dinner table. The child would not have made such a decision himself, of course. She allowed her eyes to roam over the hideously perfect form for a moment before returning to her book. "Alright. I will be there in a moment."

The small clearing of a throat, however, forced her attention back to the butler, still standing at the door. "I really must insist that you make haste, madam. The young master anticipates your presence." The man was making his way steadily behind her seat now, one gloved hand coming to rest upon the back of the armchair with a familiarity too intimate to be considered professional. She frowned, her novel falling into her lap though still clutched loosely in one hand. "There is only so much I can do, after all, before he begins to pine after his mother," that smooth voice was now hissing in her ear, the distaste clear in it.

Her heart was beating violently in her chest and it would not surprise her if he could hear it struggling against her rib cage. Her mind went into overdrive through the fog of confusion; would the butler harm her? His tone of voice was anything but benevolent and she could not help the way in which her entire body tensed as two gloved hands slid down either armrest, encaging her. She could smell him as his head was pressed near to hers, the scent of fresh linen and mint, she could feel the silky strands of his inky hair brushing her cheek and hear the sound of his even breathing. His voice was husky as he whispered to her.

"I think, my Lady, that we may have gotten off on the wrong foot, as it were." The leather of the armchair creaked beneath his gloved hands as they clenched down upon the armrests either side of her. "You appear to find me rather... unsatisfactory. I assure you that this need not be the case. For you see, as a humble servant of the Phantomhive family, it is my duty to please the household in every aspect. I am sure that you could find yourself becoming quite... accustomed to me."

Instinctually, she attempted to move her head away from those wicked words. She found her efforts stopped, however, by one gloved hand which came up to hold her jaw, turning her face once again. "Ah, ah. I must implore you to hear my pledge, madam. You see, I believe that we could be quite the duo, you and I. If only you were willing to simply accept me as the rest of your family have," his voice was almost mournful. "Well," he simpered, "Perhaps you simply need a little more... persuading." In the blink of an eye her jaw had been released and the beast of a man was kneeling between her legs, which he appeared to have pushed open to accommodate him faster than any human could have. Those hands gripped her thighs, her dress having been pushed up and out of the way, and Rachel found herself quite unable to move (or unwilling) despite her conscious screaming at her to aim a kick at the butler's smirking face. He pressed a soft, noncommittal kiss to her silky inner thigh, the strange burgundy eyes fixed on her all the while. "I think you'll find that I can be quite impressive," he seemed to hiss to her, though his lips were not moving. "If you would simply allow yourself to see it."

After those all too clear words, the dark head inclined towards her and then she was on fire, she was burning in the sweet pits of hell, her novel having long toppled out of her grasp and onto the floor beside them. Her world was the man before her, fingers grasping at her insistently, _demanding _her attention.

When it was over, and he had finished his torment, the butler stood, smoothing his uniform and bringing one of those capable, gloved hands through his hair before sending a wicked grin her way. "I do hope that you will be more accepting of me after this... _exchange, _my lady. You did seem to quite enjoy yourself," he hummed.

Her lips parted, both in shock at his words and in horror at what she had just allowed to happen. It wasn't about _enjoyment, _he had taken advantage of her. He had enchanted her, surely, put some sort of curse on her that had held her steady while he... defiled her.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I really must get back to the young master. Please do make haste to dinner, madam." And with that, the door to the library swung closed and she was left alone to her torturous thoughts, unable to even hear his footsteps as he walked away. Now, however, there was no doubt in her mind that he was not who he said he was, that he was not even human at all. She sat forward in her seat, an unsteady hand coming up to cover her mouth in repulsion. He had put his hands on her and she had not fought him... The first thought in her head was that Vincent could never know, that no-one could know. She imagined that she might even kill the butler before anyone uncovered the ugly truth, but then she felt immediately sickened by the thought. Wringing her hands shakily, she attempted to calm her elevated breathing rate and calm herself, feeling the dewy sweat bead upon her forehead, only partly due to the humidity of the evening.

At last, Rachel stood woodenly, allowing her skirt to fall back to its original positioning around her feet. Clasping the headrest of the seat to steady herself, she made her way hesitantly towards the dining room. Her steps were uneven, so unlike her usual calm but delicate paces. The breeze allowed by the open windows cooled her skin considerably, but still she could not shake the feeling of phantom insects crawling over her neck and arms. It was as though the man was _under her skin, _as though he was still touching her with those nimble fingers.

Upon reaching the dining room, she was greeted with a sight that made her heart constrict uncomfortably; there sat her husband at the head of the vast mahogany table as was his custom, and there beside him was her son, wiping at his cerulean eyes with one spindly wrist, the skin of his once porcelain cheeks splotched with unsightly patches of red from his tears. Vincent leaned on one forearm towards the crying child, apparently attempting to console him. Rachel felt nauseous as she sat upon the chair that was pulled out for her by nameless, faceless male servant. But still she felt the need to intervene even taking her husband's soothing whispers into consideration, even taking her earlier actions into consideration. Some deep, innate need pulling at her, feeling her with the desire to make one last attempt at regaining her lost motherhood.

"What's wrong, darling?" Her voice sounded weak to her own ears and Vincent glanced up at her, the surprise evident in his eyes.

Seemingly with some great effort, the child peeled his wrist away from his face, long dark lashes gummed with the stickiness of salt, and regarded his mother hollowly. "Seb... Seb is gone," he announced miserably, the reedy little voice breaking on the last word. After only a moment of confusion, she realised that he spoke of their beloved family dog as, to her knowledge, he never used any shortenings of the butler's name. Her heart plummeted instantly, and the boy before her seemed a little less like the corpse of her baby boy and a little more like the child that she herself had once doted upon. All at once she ached for him and almost - almost - reached out to comfort him.

"_Ciel,_" the child's father breathed, the sympathy heavy in his voice, "I'm sure he hasn't gone far. The silly dog has probably fallen asleep in the stables," this drew a watery smile from the upset boy, "We'll have the gardener look for him right away." A capable hand carded through the boy's soft crown of hair (so soft, Rachel noted, despite having lost some of its previous shine.) "Isn't that right, Sebastian?"

She had not even noticed the butler's looming presence before that point, the smug smile resting there distastefully as always. "Of course, my Lord," the man simpered and Rachel's previous affection seemed to slip away from her like water droplets through the hands of a parched man, a venemous hatred flaring in its stead. Her son, however, seemed instantly soothed by the butler's presence. "I will send notice to the gardener immediately. In the meantime, however, please enjoy dinner."

The vast expanse of the dining room table was quickly filled with food, as was the cook's custom. Rachel's stomach, however, felt as though it were twisting in knots with the tension that she experienced daily now and with her paper-thin boy sitting across the table from her, she doubted she would be eating much of the feast before her. Her husband, however, seemed quite pleased, if anything, and that struck a chord within her - how could he not see the state of his child, wasting away in front of him? Had he not noticed even vaguely the boy's rapid weight loss? She frowned, searching her husband's handsome face as though seeking the concern which should be evident in his eyes as it was in her own. However, all she saw were the benign hazel irises that she had once known so well.

"I thought that perhaps the master and his family might like to enjoy something a little different for dinner this evening," the butler announced smoothly.

"Is that so?" her husband returned, "And what is it that we are being served?"

"Ah," the wicked man's voice was almost secretive, his tone inclining a little at the end of his proclamation as though he was playing a game with a child. "I am afraid I would rather like to surprise you after you dine."

"Very well, Sebastian," Vincent conceded with a low hum as he was served a portion of the mysterious dark meat, "We must all have our games, after all." And Rachel was horrified to discover a similarity to the butler's tone of voice ringing through her beloved husband's words; a playful giddiness that she was sure he usually left with his colleagues in the underworld of the aristocracy. Glancing up towards the butler, her heart sank further to see him wink at her secretively and immediately the cogs of her mind began whirring. She lifted the perfectly polished silver fork in front of her, pressing it gently into the meat in front of her, however, her husband was the first to taste it. "This is excellent, Sebastian," he praised, as though the butler himself had prepared the meal. Though, taking this into account, Rachel would not have been surprised to discover that her son was now rejecting food made by anyone other than the treasured servant.

"I must regrettably inform you that our supply of such meat is limited," the butler responded, a hint of melancholy that she easily detected as fake in his voice. Rachel's eyes widened as things began to slot into place as though the entire evening had been one gruesome jigsaw. Her gaze travelled slowly from the dark meat on her plate towards her son, who was now swiftly eating his way through the meal in front of him, his earlier upset apparently soothed though the dampness still clung to his feathery lashes. The missing dog, the meat without a name, and the butler's wink and before she knew if she was standing woodenly and she had snatched her son's plate away from him as both he and her husband stared up at her quizzically. She had snatched it and she had brushed past the servant and she was storming away from the decadently designed room and towards the kitchen, her husband's demands not even reaching her ears.

The staff parted for her like the red sea and only watched on as she violently hurled the plate at the sink, her shoulders trembling and her breast heaving with each breath she took. She turned shakily and there was her husband watching her in astonishment from the doorway and her son clutching to the coattails of the smirking butler and she was striding forward and ripping him away from the man and dragging him, silent, towards the sink, lifting him so that his little feet hovered a foot or two off the floor and she shook him. "Spit it out," she demanded and when he did not respond, when he was as still as a marionette, she repeated herself loudly, "Spit it out! Vomit it up if you have to, but spit it out!" And her little boy tried desperately to obey her as though something within him knew that she spoke sense, no matter how crazed she appeared.

But the child was quickly wrenched away from her by her husband, who then passed him to the butler and she could see his lips moving, could see his hand directing sharply, apparently telling the servant to take the boy away, but she could barely hear him. She did hear him, however, when he grasped her by the upper arms, forcing her to look at him, and shouted at her. "What has gotten into you? What do you think you're playing at? You think it acceptable to frighten the life out of our son? Look at him. _Look at him, _Rachel." And she did, she glanced towards her child for only a moment before looking back towards her husband, shaking her head minutely as her lips trembled, attempting to emit an explanation, the uncomfortable prickling warmth of tears behind her eyes.

They were interrupted, however, by the opening of a door through a large archway leading out of the kitchen, a door which lead directly into the grounds of the mansion. The noise of two boots against tile was heard, then followed by four considerably lighter steps and the shaking of a heavily furred flank. There appeared the bearded, rosy cheeked face of the quickly maturing gardener, who held the family dog by his collar and, seemingly oblivious to the havoc currently taking place, announced cheerfully, "Look who's come back to us."

Her child wriggled within the butler's grasp, struggling to be put down, and the servant was acquiescent to his desires, allowing the boy to scamper across the room and lock his hands into the dog's thick coat. At the sight of the boy and the dog reunited, Rachel felt her world crumble from beneath her feet, her one scrap of evidence against the butler falling away from her and she became limp in her husband's grasp, her face falling forwards into her own slender hands in despair. Vincent's grip loosened on her completely, his hand coming upwards to rake through his own hair. She was sobbing helplessly into her hands and she barely heard her husband directing one of the maids to bring her up to one of the guest bedrooms and settle her into bed and the maid's slender arm was around her back, leading her and pulling her away from the room and as she left she pulled her hands away from her face for a moment, one of the work surfaces coming directly into her line of vision, but what she saw had her sobbing harder.

There on the smooth surface sat the skinned hides of three hares, which she did not doubt that her own husband had caught earlier that day when hunting.

:: ::

"Your mother is not feeling very well at the moment, young master." The butler's voice was hushed in the stillness of his bedroom, his weight firm and real upon the mattress beside him but Ciel still felt very awake. He lay on his side, his back to the butler as one gloved hand ran smoothly through his hair, the soothing motion causing his eyelids to droop just a little. "I'm afraid that you may not be able to see her for quite some time."

"I miss mummy," Ciel confided in a low mumble as he rolled over in bed, situating his head upon the butler's thigh. The capable gloved hand paused for only a moment as he repositioned himself, before returning to his hair. "I never see her anymore. She never talks to me."

He didn't need to look up to know that his butler was frowning; he could hear the displeasure in his voice. "You don't need your mother." The response was short, clipped, and less professional than the smooth, winding words that Ciel was used to. He glanced upwards and then rolled onto his back entirely to gaze up at the butler's handsome face, the clean-shaven ice-cool skin and the neat black brows furrowed over those rich, wine-red eyes. A sense of impatience emanated from him and the muscles of his thighs felt a little more tense than usual and if Ciel did not know better, he would have suspected the butler of being about to go into a strop like a child denied attention. Small fingers latched to the buttons of the butler's waistcoat, fiddling and anchoring their owner who said nothing in return to the butler's comment. "You have me, Young Master," Sebastian continued, as though trying to slip steadily back into his usual role.

Slender fingers made their way up slowly, before coming to rest at the visible black tie, a small pointer stroking it demurely as though trying to sooth a wild beast with gentle caresses. However, he was still distracted by thoughts of his mother, of her actions earlier that evening. He wondered if she was asleep as his father had directed that she should be. He wondered if she was truly mad.

His eyes locked onto his own hand, the brittle bones and tendons showing as clear as day. He had noticed the change in his own appearance, of course, but had not said anything to Sebastian lest the butler think that he too had been swept away by the same madness that had seemingly taken his mother. He was weak and tired and yet Sebastian bloomed still, as beautiful this day as he had been the last and the last and the last, never marked by change. What concerned him most of all, however, was the patchiness of his own memory; that he could not remember a time before Sebastian, that his life seemed to revolve around the butler, though he was quite sure that there must have been a stage in his life at which the butler had not been under his family's employment. Sebastian was not only his sword and shield, but the axel of his world and the core of his very being - he could not comprehend his own existence without the butler by his side, the very man who said that he would lead him to glory.

"I know," he found himself responding softly, his voice a little watery, "I know that, Sebastian."

:: ::

The maid had said nothing of substance to her. She had only been asked politely to lift her arms, to sit or stand, or to slip underneath the covers as meek hands positioned her like a child's doll. She had said nothing and sobbed no longer as she lay there in the dark of the guest room, banished from even sharing a room with her husband.

A vicious, irrational part of her mind hissed at her in the devil's voice (and at the time she did not even realise that the voice sounded eerily similar to the butler's smooth murmuring.) It said awful things, things that she had not even thought herself capable of considering. There was one thought, however, which ran through her head on a ceaseless loop, one thought that she obsessed over. Her son was undoubtedly asleep in his bed, his little head safe upon the pillows necessary to support that scrawny neck. It was her son that the butler had such interest in, the butler that he could not be parted from. If not for her son, she thought that perhaps... Perhaps that butler... that _devil, _would just leave them alone. Instantly, she felt sick at the thought of harming her own child, but something inside of her was driving her towards it, some great _pressure _in her brain had her standing, had her staggering out of the room.

Unsteadily, with nausea winding in the pit of her stomach, but still with that compelling drive to go forward, _pushing _her_, _she made her way slowly to her son's bedroom only to discover that the door had been left open a mere crack and she could just about see the outline of soft, tousled hair splayed against the stark whiteness of the pillow.

Her hand trembled as it reached towards the child tucked safely in the bed and her breath shook uncontrollably. _Do it, _every fibre in her being told her, chanting the same phrase over and over until it started to make sense - in fact, it seemed to be the _only _thing that made sense. Such a large bed for such a small body, and so many pillows. She lifted one, held it tensely between both her hands, positioned it above the boy's head and prepared to lean forward, to keep leaning forward and to keep exerting pressure until the boy moved no more. She paid no mind to the tears cascading down her cheeks, nor to the ugly frown marring her features. If the bait was gone, then the beast would have no cause to stay anymore. The man would leave and everything would be fine.

When two large gloved hands clamped down over her own wrists, however, she was too shocked to scream. She was too shocked to do much of anything, really, and the pillow tumbled from her hands, landing harmlessly upon the bed next to the slumbering child, who frowned and stirred a little. The butler was silent until the boy was still again, and when he was that voice returned to her ear, hissing its poison.

"Now, now, Madam. I'm afraid I cannot allow you to harm my Young Master, though I do applaud your efforts." A little sigh, as though he was actually disappointed with her. "I shall assume that this is a rejection of my earlier offer. You do seem so eager to have me leave. Very eager indeed, if you are willing to go to such lengths." Her breath caught in horror, eyes fixed on the pillow she had dropped. "And this brings us to a very important question; what am I to do with you, Madam?" She stiffened in his grasp, suddenly all too conscious of his words, and attempted to flip herself in his hold, to _look _at him, even, and plead with her eyes, but he held her steadfast. "Ah, ah," he murmured, her struggling having no effect on him in the slightest. "I have given you your chance," he continued, "And the Young Master's security is my priority." He paused for a moment, as though considering, but at his next words, Rachel could have sworn her heart stopped beating. "I could always utilise you to my advantage. You could staunch my hunger quite nicely."

His words trickled over her like an icy stream and she _did _make a small noise, a whimper of alarm escaping her lips as her earlier suspicions were confirmed. This man was no man at all. "What... What are you?" she questioned, though her voice was hoarse and her jaw was trembling. She felt his smirk against her temple.

"You need not concern yourself with that, my Lady. It would be so very easy, you know, to simply _have _you where you stand. Your wit would provide quite the satisfactory meal. Unfortunately, I'm afraid I am somewhat... _preoccupied _at the current moment. I am a glutenous creature, that much is true, but I fear that were I to consume you I simply wouldn't have enough _room _to devour that son of yours. A weaker soul would suffice, but not one with such passion as yours. Ah," he gave a short gasp, delight evident in his tone. "But perhaps you would like to taste him yourself? I myself have been provided only with mere samples, but I am sure I can find it in myself to be generous. After all, these past months have been hard on you, have they not? You deserve a little treat, I think."

With that, he had turned her in his grasp to face him and his lips clamped over hers - not in the tender motion of a kiss, but more so as to seal their mouths shut, keeping the air out. Instantly a putrid taste filled her mouth and she felt something long and damp, yet... _flaky, _as though moulding, brush the inside of her cheeks. That something pressed her own tongue down, holding it in place and her scream was swallowed by him. And then a foul bile was being passed to her. She knew that the ordeal must have been swift, but it seemed to last for years as that revolting tar slid down her throat no matter what she did to escape. His hand was holding her face now, locking her in place, and with the physical feeling of that awfulness spilling into her came the knowledge of things better forgotten, the evils of the world rushing along her nerves and into her brain and her eyes were wide with horror.

Quite suddenly, she felt herself being wrenched away from him and immediately she wretched, but whatever it was she had received from him seemed to be anchored deep within her. She clutched at her throat as he released her and stared unseeingly at him, unable to neither see nor _feel _much of anything. What she heard instead was his voice, reaching her through the muggy darkness that was left behind.

"Oh my. Did you not enjoy it Madam? I can assure you that to my kind it is the finest delicacy. We would go mad for something like that, you know. What a waste." He was mocking and she heard the playful pout in his voice. She wanted to claw at his overly perfect face, wanted to scratch and scratch until it came away in her slender hands. She wanted to rip him to shreds, rip him out of existence and force him to give what he had taken from her son back to him.

But she could not. Instead all she could do was stand quite still, chokes and whimpers coming from her abused throat.

She did not notice when he brought her back to the guest room she had been situated in. She did not feel the silk sheets against her clammy flesh and she did not see the sun when it rose that morning. She saw nothing and all she heard were her son's screams.

:: ::

Vincent Phantomhive's shoulder shook deliciously as he stood at the window behind his desk. Sebastian could admire that somewhat, the way in which the morning sun glanced off his dark hair (so like his son's) and illuminated the broad shoulders of his expensive jacket. He was understandably distraught after the maids' discovery of the state of his wife that morning, and so Sebastian's role of adviser to the Phantomhive Lord came into play.

"I just... I'm at my wits' end, Sebastian," he spoke unevenly, the words muffled and distorted against the palm he had pressed against his own mouth. "I don't know what to do with her anymore. I've been lenient until now but... She isn't the woman I married. She's a _wreck, _Sebastian, you saw her. She doesn't even know where she is." The hand that had been covering his mouth flung angrily out to the side and he turned, desperate eyes meeting Sebastian's own. "What am I to do for the best?" It was amusing, Sebastian thought, how quickly the Lord's cool demeanour crumbled when his supporting pillar, his beloved wife, was taken away from him. "Where did I go wrong?"

The state of the human soul is a very delicate thing, and something that should _never _be contaminated in the way that Rachel Phantomhive's had been. It was a somewhat tedious process and very strenuous on the little Lord, but Sebastian had, over the months during which he had been in service to the Phantomhive family, managed to acquire a little taste of his master here and there. It was best done when the master was asleep, deeply in the throes of the nightmares that Sebastian would construct for him, and the beast would creep into the child's bedroom and _pull _just a little, and fragments of the soul would come away for him as easily as if they were curls from a lamb's fluffed coat. Just a taste, just enough to get him by and sate his hunger for a little while. Those regurgitated fragments, however, had been enough to push the lady of the house over the edge. It was unsurprising really; he doubted any human would be able to consume such a thing and survive healthily.

"You have done nothing wrong, my Lord," Sebastian responded smoothly. "I fear the Mistress may have been in somewhat of a delicate state for some time now. Unfortunately, it seems that she is perhaps... unsuited to the lifestyle of the aristocracy. Perhaps so many public events have proved to put too much strain on her. As to your future actions... If I may be so bold, Sir, I would like to make a suggestion."

Vincent was silent for a moment, before he finally allowed the butler to speak. "Out with it."

It was not easy to hide his smirk, to keep his expression sombre, but he managed it. "Perhaps, Sir, the best thing would be to separate her from the young master for just a little while. To have her isolated, yet give her the opportunity to work through these current problems of hers."

The lord was growing frustrated now. "What exactly is it that you are trying to say, Sebastian?"

"Why, I believe that the best thing for the lady at this particular point in time may be institutionalisation."

Ah, yes, he was so very close now. His plan was nearly half complete, after all.

One down, one to go.

:: ::

_Proverbs 25:26_

"_Like a muddied spring or a polluted fountain is a righteous man who gives way before the wicked."_

:: ::

**Secondary AN:** There is one matter I feel I should address: Vincent fucking Phantomhive's eye colour. I was unsure as to the colour of his eyes, so I decided to go on a little googling adventure to find out - naturally, this was not as easy as first anticipated. After wading through mounds of black and white mangacaps, fanart (many featuring Diedrich, one featuring Sebastian that I was scared to click on and one completely unrelated piece that appeared to be an AloisXAmerican McGee's Alice crossover) I came to the infuriating conclusion that his eyes are a colour that does not yet have a name; a colour which may not have been discovered yet. So I just decided to go with hazel, because that seemed to be the closest thing possible.

I also thought I'd say that I have nothing against Rachel or Vincent! I actually sort of fell in love with writing from Rachel's point of view (if you couldn't tell already) and the fact that there isn't a great deal of detail regarding her in either the manga or anime gave me a little room to explore which I enjoyed immensely. But, unfortunately, sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do for plot progression. ):

Also, for updates on this and other future fanfiction you can follow my new FF twitter, Falling_Mirrors

PS. I've just had an idea for a creepy modern AU that I am literally about to begin writing. I have a few ideas in mind and I'm pretty excited about it, so please keep on the lookout for it!


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